Theod. Captain, your friend's preferr'd; the The tongue of war for ever tied within us? Theod. It must be so. Captain, you are a stranger, But of a small time here a soldier, Yet that time shews you a right good and great Before the last duke's death, whose honour'd bones Now rest in peace, this young prince had the ordering (To crown his father's hopes) of all the army: The good duke blush'd, and call'd unto my father, errors!" My sire obey'd, and did so; with all duty And, by my father's hand"-the rest his eyes spoke. [anger To which my father answer'd, somewhat moved Theod. A perdue captain, Full of my father's danger. Puts. He has raised a young man, For what desert? I have seen a better face, and a straighter body; And yet she is a pretty gentlewoman. Olym. What thinkest thou, Petesca? Pet. Alas, madam, I have no skill; she has a black eye, Which is of the least too, and the dullest water: And when her mouth was made, for certain, madam, Nature intended her a right good stomach. Olym. She has a good hand. Gent. 'Tis good enough to hold fast, And strong enough to strangle the neck of a lute. Olym. What think you of her colour? Pet. If it be her own, 'Tis good black blood; right weather-proof, I warrant it. Gent. What a strange pace she has got! Pet. And what a manly body! methinks she looks As though she'd pitch the bar, or go to buffets. Gent. Yet her behaviour's utterly against it, For methinks she is too bashful. Olym. Is that hurtful? Gent. Even equal to too bold: either of 'em, madam, May do her injury when time shall serve her. Call in the wench.[Exit Gentlewoman. What envious fools are you! Is the rule general, That women can speak handsomely of none, But those they are bred withal? Pet. Scarce well of those, madam, If they believe they may outshine 'em any way: Our natures are like oil, compound us with any thing, Yet still we strive to swim o' th' top. Suppose there were here now, Now in this court of Moscow, a stranger-princess, Olym. I would think she might deserve it. I know you are a woman and so humour'd. on you, More caps and feathers, more scarfs, and more silk stockings, With rocking you asleep with nightly railings I could wear out. By this hand, you would scratch her eyes out. Olym. Thou art deceived, fool. Now let your own eyes mock you. Enter Gentlewoman and Young ARCHAS, disguised as a woman, bearing the name of ALINDA, Come hither, girl.-Hang me, an she be not a handsome one! Pet. I fear 'twill prove indeed so. Olym. Did you e'er serve yet In any place of worth? Y. Arch. No, royal lady. Pet. Hold up your head; fy! Olym. Let her alone; stand from her. Y. Arch. It shall be now, Of all the blessings my poor youth has pray'd for, To be believed, because I am yet a stranger, Olym. [To PETESCA.] What think ye now?- And sure I shall not be so far forgetful, Y. Arch. Alinda, madam. Y. Arch. A little, when my grief will give me leave, lady. Olym. What grief canst thou have, wench? Thou For yet I never saw that man I sigh'd for. Y. Arch. My mother oft has told me, Olym. Something there was, when I first look'd upon thee, Made me both like and love thee; now I know it, And you shall find that knowledge shall not hurt I hope you are a maid? Y. Arch. I hope so too, madam ; [you. I am sure for any man. And were I otherwise, Flourish. Enter Duke, BURRIS, and Gentlemen. Olym. A good day to your highness! Duke. I am come to pray you use no more per But far off dwelling: Her desire to serve me Brought her to th' court, and here her friends have left her. Duke. She may find better friends. You are welcome, fair one! [Young ARCHAS kneels. The Duke kisses him. I have not seen a sweeter. By your lady's leave: Nay, stand up, sweet; we'll have no superstition. You have got a servant; you may use him kindly, And he may honour you. Good morrow, sister. [Exeunt Duke, BURRIS, and Gentlemen. Olym. Good morrow to your grace! How the wench blushes ! And therefore nothing can be meant but honour. Y. Arch. That he may with safety: For Virtue's sake deliver me from doubts, lady. Olym. I believe thee- SCENE III.-An open Place before the Palace. Enter ARCHAS, THEODORE, PUTSKIE, ANCIENT, and Soldiers, carrying his armour piece-meal, his colours wound up, and his drums in cases. Theod. This is the heaviest march we e'er trod, captain. Puts. This was not wont to be: These honour'd pieces, The fiery god of war himself would smile at, Thou child of honour and ambitious thoughts, A long farewell I give thee! Noble arms, Upon whose fatal edge despair and death dwelt, tion, Sleep now from blood, and grace my monument: Farewell, my eagle! when thou flew'st, whole armies [thee Have stoop'd below thee: At passage I have seen Theod. You are indeed to us, sir. A greater, and a stronger man to lead you, tlemen, Stoop to my grave: My mind unfurnish'd too; For one knock more; I should have made a shift yet To have broke one staff more, handsomely, and have died Like a good fellow, and an honest soldier, Archas. Ha! no more of that, sirrah; Theod. I must speak, sir: And may that tongue forget to sound your service, That's dumb to your abuses! Archas. Understand, fool, That voluntary I sit down. Theod. You are forced, sir, Forced for your safety: I too well remember The time and cause, and I may live to curse 'em, You made this vow; and whose unnobleness, Indeed forgetfulness of good Archas. No more! As thou art mine, no more! Theod. Whose doubts and enviesBut the devil will have his due. Puts. Good gentle colonel! Flourish. Enter DUKE, BURRIS, BOROSKIE, Attendants Puts. An't please you, sir, the duke. The meaning of all this ceremonious emblem? Duke. I do, and shall remember still that injury, Burris. Oh, think not so, sir. I did no more (and that with modesty, ness, And impudence of scorn fall from my 'haviour; I ever yet knew duty. Duke. We shall teach you! I well remember too, upon some words I told you, Beaten and bruised with arms, dried up with troubles, That all should be confined within your excellence, Theod. My heart will break else.-Royal sir, I What you esteem men's lives, whose hourly labours, And loss of blood, consumptions in your service, Duke. You will not fight with me? You are my prince, but I dare speak to you, Duke. Even when you please, sir. [Exit THEODORE. Duke. And so may you too : You have a house i' th' country; keep you there, sir, And, when you have rul'd yourself, teach your son For this time I forgive him. [manners: Archas. Heaven forgive all ; And to your grace a happy and long rule here!— And you, lord general, may your fights be pros perous! In all your course may Fame and Fortune court you! And when you strike, strike with that killing virtue, [Exeunt Duke, BOROSKIE, &c. I have seen him in his sourest shapes, and dreadfull'st; Ay, and I thank my honesty, have stood him. That audit's cast.-Farewell, my honest soldiers! Give me your hands. Farewell! farewell, good Ancient ! (A stout man, and a true) thou art come in sorrow. Be valiant still, and good: And when ye fight next, Puts. Let's wait upon you. Archas. No, no, it must not be; I have now left A single fortune to myself, no more, [me Which needs no train, nor compliment. Good captain, You are an honest and a sober gentleman, Puts. I am sure on't. Archas. Look to my boy; he's grown too headstrong for me; And if they think him fit to carry arms still, [Exit. Anc. I'll cry no more, that will do him no good, And 'twill but make me dry, and I have no money. I'll fight no more, and that will do them harm; And if I can do that, I care not for money. I could have curs'd reasonable well, and I have had the luck too To have 'em hit sometimes. Whosoe'er thou art, A plague upon thee! that's but the preamble. Anc. They'll cure one another : I must have none but kills, and those kill stinking. Puts. That's but ill i' th' arms, sir. Anc. 'Tis worse i' th' legs; I would not wish it else: And may those grow to scabs as big as mole-hills, ['em The beggar's lechery; sometimes the soldier's: May he be ever lazy, stink where he stands, And maggots breed in's brains! Post. Where's the duke, pray, gentlemen? Puts. Keep on your way, you cannot miss. Post. I thank you. [Exit. Anc. If he be married, may he dream he's cuckold, And when he wakes believe, and swear he saw it, Sue a divorce, and after find her honest; Then in a pleasant pig-sty, with his own garters, And a fine running knot, ride to the devil! Puts. If these would do Anc. I'll never trust my mind more, If all these fail. 1 Sold. What shall we do now, captain? For by this honest hand I'll be torn a-pieces, Unless my old general go, or some that love him, And love us equal too, before I fight more. I can make a shoe yet, and draw it on too, If I like the leg well. Anc. Fight? 'tis likely! No, there will be the sport, boys, when there's need on's. They think the other crown will do, will carry us, |