 | The Siege and Surrender of Mons |  |
Scene 5.
Scene, A street in Mons. Enter several Burghers in Arms, with Pioneers and Souldiers.1 Burg.
Have you quencht the Fire in Domingo's-street?
Pioneer.
Yes, Sir, but there is another broke out near the Palace.
2. Burg.
These Bombs are like Plaisters of Cantharides, they raise
Blisters where e're they are apply'd.
3. Burg.
I think o' my Conscience the whole Town is troubled
with a Saint Antony's Fire, for 'tis burning almost in every place.
[A great noise heard.]
2. Burg.
Ha! what noise is that, Heaven guard our Sences.
Enter a Souldier running.
Souldier.
Good news, good news, the Windmill is blown up.
Is that such good news, say you?
Sould.
Yes, Sir, for Major Pedro blew it up to prevent the French
making use of it to annoy the Town; I have but one little Cottage
of my own, and I'de make a Bon-fire on't before the French
should have it.
1. Sould.
Nay, never fret your self about that Fellow, Souldier,
for if they go on as they began, the whole Town will be but one
continued Bon-fire in a little time.
2. Souldier.
But we have pretty well warm'd their fingers for
'em already, they have lost (if Report be not a damn'd confounded
lying Son of a Whore) above three thousand Men, and we
not too hundred and fifty since the Siege.
Enter a Switzer Deserter.
2. Burg.
How now, in the name of Wonder, who art thou?
Switz.
Why, Sir, I am a Man and no Man, a Souldier and no
Souldier.
1 Burg.
Or any thing, or rather nothing; speak quickly, what
are you? who are you? and who d'yee belong to?
Switz.
Sir, I was a Souldier in the French Camp, and for divers
and sundry reasons have deserted it.
Souldier.
To come to be a Spy upon us—knock out his brains,
knock out his brains for a Son of an overgrown Mustachio.
Switzer.
You wrong me, Gentlemen, I am no Villain,
But one whom just resentment has compell'd
To leave the French, my once Tyrannick Masters,
To serve—Oh I am very faint.
1. Burg.
Give him some Brandy, give him some Brandy; a
very honest fellow, this o' my Conscience, rubb his temples, rubb
his Temples—so, no now he comes to himself—Well Friend,
how stands the French Camp?
Switz.
It moves along in a continued Motion,
First on one side, then by and by on t'other,
And whispers hourly, buz about the Camp,
That a great Army hastens to relieve
Your almost ruin'd Town, or give 'em Battle.
2. Burg.
Courage, Courage, my Boys, chear up, my little Sons
of Fire and Gun-Powder—here poor Fellow, there's some Money
for you—I am mightily in love with this Switzer.
Will you affirm all this before the Prince?
Switz.
Yes and much more, for I have some Reports
Are only fitting for his private Ear,
Which if suspected, let me lye in Prison,
Until the certainty of all's confirm'd.
1. Burg.
Odd I love the Rogue from my heart, come I'le goe
along with you to the Governour, and I'le warrant thee a Gold
Chain and Medal.
Switz.
—Or if I'm false, a halter.
[Exeunt the Burgers, with the Switz.
Enter a great Rabble Crying out, Fire.
Sould.
Where, where?
Rabble.
Every where, every where, in the Palace, in the Market
place. The whole Town is but one great Oven, and I think they
design to bake us in't, come away, come away.
| The Siege and Surrender of Mons | |