_Phil_. Stand off--or I'll make way upon thy Bosom.

_Abd_. How got you, Sir, this daring?

_Phil_. From injur'd _Philip's_ Death,
Who, whilst he liv'd, unjustly cherish'd thee,
And set thee up beyond the reach of Fate;
Blind with thy brutal Valor, deaf with thy Flatteries,
Discover'd not the Treason thou didst act,
Nor none durst let him know 'em--but did he live,
I wou'd aloud proclaim them in his Ears.

_Abd_. You durst as well been damn'd.

_Phil_. Hell seize me if I want Revenge for this--
Not dare!
Arise, thou injur'd Ghost of my dead King,
And thro thy dreadful Paleness dart a Horror,
May fright this pair of Vipers from their Sins.

_Abd_. Oh insupportable! dost hear me, Boy?

_Qu_. Are ye all mute, and hear me thus upbraided?
[_To the Lords_.

_Phil_. Dare ye detain me whilst the Traitor braves me?

_Men_. Forbear, my Prince, keep in that noble Heat
That shou'd be better us'd than on a Slave.