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And let the wounded have attendance due; Let sorcery and med'cine combine To mitigate their pain. (Turning to the Prisoners.) Nay, Ehleypoolie, Why from beneath those low'ring brows dost thou Cast on the ground such wan and wither'd looks? Thy martial enterprise fell somewhat short Of thy predictions and thy master's pleasure; But thou and all thy band have bravely fought, And no disgrace is coupled with your failure.

Had not my amulets from this right arm Been at the onset torn, ev'n ambush'd foes Had not so master'd us.

Well, be it so; good amulets hereafter Thou may'st secure, and fight with better luck.

Ay, luck was on your side, good sooth! such luck As fiends and magic give. Another time

What thou wilt do another time, at present We have no time to learn. (To his followers generally.) Go where cool sparkling cups and sav'ry viands