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Mess. Ten thousand of the enemy are slain; We too have lost full many a gallant soul. I view'd the closing armies from afar; Their close pick'd ranks in goodly order spread, Which seem'd alas! when that the fight was o'er, Like the wild marshes' crop of stately reeds, Laid with the passing storm. But woe is me! When to the field I came, what dismal sights! What waste of life! what heaps of bleeding slain!

Bas. Would I were laid a red, disfigur'd corse, Amid those heaps! they fought, and we were absent! (Walks about distractedly, then stops short.) Who sent thee here?

Mess. Piscaro sent me to inform Count Basil He needs not now his aid, and gives him leave To march his tardy troops to distant quarters.

Bas. He says so, does he? well it shall be so. (Tossing his arms distractedly) I will to quarters, narrow quarters go, Where voice of war shall rouse me forth no more, [

Mess. I'll follow after him, he is distracted; And yet he looks so wild I dare not do it.

''Vict. to Isab.'' Didst thou not mark him as he pass'd thee too?

Isab. I saw him pass, but with such hasty steps, I had no time.