_Phil_. By Heav'n, I'll to the Camp--Brother, farewel,
When next I meet thee, it shall be in Arms,
If thou can'st get loose from thy Mistress' Chains,
Where thou ly'st drown'd in idle wanton Love.

_Abd_. Hah--his Mistress--who is't Prince _Philip_ means?

_Phil_. Thy Wife, thy Wife, proud Moor, whom thou'rt content
To sell for Honour to eternal Infamy--
Does't make thee snarl?--Bite on, whilst thou shalt see,
I go for Vengeance, and 'twill come with me.
[_Going out, turns and draws_.

_Abd_. Stay! for 'tis here already--turn, proud Boy.
[Abd. _draws_.

_King_. What mean you, _Philip_?--[_Talks to him aside_.

_Qu_. Cease, cease your most impolitick Rage. [_To_ Abd.
Is this a time to shew't?--Dear Son, you are a King,
And may allay this Tempest.

_King_. How dare you disobey my Will and Pleasure? [_To_ Abd.

_Abd_. Shall I be calm, and hear my Wife call'd Whore?
Were he great _Jove_, and arm'd with all his Lightning,
By Heav'n, I could not hold my just Resentment.

_Qu_. 'Twas in his Passion, noble _Abdelazer_--
[King _talking to_ Phil. _aside_.