Enter LORENZO, who kneels to ALPHONSO.

Bert. [To Alph.] A joyful cry; and see your son Lorenzo.  Good news, kind heaven!

Alph. [To Lor.]
O welcome, welcome! is the general safe? 
How near our army? when shall we be succoured? 
Or, are we succoured? are the Moors removed? 
Answer these questions first, and then a thousand more;
Answer them all together.

Lor. Yes, when I have a thousand tongues, I will. 
The general’s well; his army too is safe,
As victory can make them.  The Moors’ king
Is safe enough, I warrant him, for one. 
At dawn of day our general cleft his pate,
Spite of his woollen night-cap:  a slight wound;
Perhaps he may recover.

Alph. Thou reviv’st me.

Ped. By my computation now, the victory was gained before the procession was made for it; and yet it will go hard but the priests will make a miracle of it.

Lor. Yes, faith; we came like bold intruding guests,
And took them unprepared to give us welcome. 
Their scouts we killed, then found their body sleeping;
And as they lay confused, we stumbled o’er them,
And took what joint came next, arms, heads, or legs,
Somewhat indecently.  But when men want light,
They make but bungling work.

Bert. I’ll to the queen, And bear the news.

Ped. That’s young Lorenzo’s duty.

Bert. I’ll spare his trouble.—­
This Torrismond begins to grow too fast;
He must be mine, or ruined. [Aside, and Exit.

Lor. Pedro a word:—­[whisper.]

Alph. How swift he shot away!  I find it stung him, In spite of his dissembling. [To Lorenzo.] How many of the enemy are slain?

Lor. Troth, sir, we were in haste, and could not stay
To score the men we killed; but there they lie: 
Best send our women out to take the tale;
There’s circumcision in abundance for them. [Turns to PEDRO again.

Alph. How far did you pursue them?

Lor. Some few miles.—­ [To Pedro] Good store of harlots, say you, and dog-cheap?  Pedro, they must be had, and speedily; I’ve kept a tedious fast. [Whisper again.

Alph. When will he make his entry? he deserves Such triumphs as were given by ancient Rome:  Ha, boy, what say’st thou?

Lor. As you say, sir, that Rome was very ancient. [To Pedro.] I leave the choice to you; fair, black, tall, low, Let her but have a nose; and you may tell her, I am rich in jewels, rings, and bobbing pearls, Plucked from Moors’ ears.

Alph. Lorenzo.

Lor. Somewhat busy
About affairs relating to the public.—­
A seasonable girl, just in the nick now—­ [To Pedro.
                                                   [Trumpets within.