Chorus.

Hey, fellow; Silence, or I will slay thee. ’Tis well; he is dead.— —Silently, silently.—Stay, stay. Which way?— Here o’er the wall.—Hark thou, there’s fighting there— Our men have driven them back—we be too late.— They will return—See where they climb the wall.

[The shouting and firing are grown quite near, and some figures are seen through the trees scaling the wall from without.

Ch. Who be they? See, they are swarming in the castle— Our men, ’tis they. We are saved.—Make not too sure— Best hide among the trees—Hide, hide.—I’ll take The pagan’s scimitar. [They retire among trees.

Enter left through the door a few Moorish soldiers, followed by the king, whom Enrique pursues.