University of Virginia Library

SCÆNA IV.

Enter Clytus and Hyppocles with Orithya, Thalæstris, Menalippe and Marthesia like Amazon Captives, shackled with Golden Fetters, and pinnion'd with silken cords, two & two as in a Wood.
Clyt:
Could you imagine you could carry your
Designe in Clouds, and change your shapes, like Spirits,
And take what formes you please, and we not know it?

Hypp:
Alas we had our plot going too; Our spies
Gave us intelligence, where, when to seize you.
'Tis not unknowne to us, you called a Councell
Of Warre; In which, without your husbands knowledge,
You did resolve to put your selves in Armes,
And fight against us. We can tell you that
Roxane was to be your Generall;
Barsene Captaine of the Engines; You,
Lady Ulisses, were to command the Horse,
This Lady Hector the foot; And these two, here,
Were to be Scouts by Night, by Day your Squires,
To beare your Targets after you.

Orith:
Y'have had
A noble Conquest of it, to surprize
A Company of poore weake Women. Is this
The valour of your Nation, to proceed
By plot and stratagem 'gainst such as us?

Clyt:
These are Warre Arts.

Thal:
Or is this noble usage,
To Fetter us, and cast us into Chaines?
You could but Manicle your slaves thus.

Clyt.
We
Do but observe the Law of Armes towards those
Whom we do take in Armes.

Orith:
Does then the Law
Bid you keepe no distinction betweene Sexes?

Hypp:
Yes, where the Persons whom we conquer do.
But you have lost your priviledge; And put off
Your Sex for ours.

Clit:
We looke not on you now,
As vanquish't Ladies, but as vanquish't Captaines;
And so must use you.

Orith:
Alas, what's your Intent?
Is't to enrich your selves with our poore spoyles?

Thal:
If Plunder be your aime, pray take our jewels;
Bestow them on your Mistresses, at your
Returne; And tell them how generously, how stoutly,
You purchast them; Say you betraid the Wearers
First, and then rifled 'em.

Orith:
Pray strip us; And
Let us redeeme our Liberty with the
Poore ransome of our Cloathes.

Clyt:
You are deceiv'd;
Our purposes are much more high, and noble,
Then to raise booty from you, Theeves conquer so.
Our Custome is, when we take Prisoners, to
Lead them in Triumph through our Thracian streets;
Your Beauties, thus adorned, will save the charge
Of guilded Pageants, to entertaine the People.

Thal:
Must we be made a show, then, to delight
Your Wives and children?

Clyt:
How should they make us welcome
At our returne else?

Hipp:
Could we take your fields,
And Townes, and Cities, and Rivers Prisoners too,
And could transport them with us, these we should
Make part oth' Triumph; But because we cannot,
What Nature makes impossible, we do
Supply with Art, And lead them painted; And
The Pencill doth present in Colours, what
The Truth of Things denies.

Clyt:
Then for your persons,
Being our lawfull Captives; 'Tis our Custome
To give you to our Ladies, to be their slaves
In ordinary; To starch, and to belong
Unto their Laundries, And so we doe divide
Our Conquests with them. But because we will
Deale honourably with you, we intend
To use you as our other Wives; you shall
Be seconds in the pleasures of our Beds.

Hipp:
I do presume such Warlike Ladies, as
Your selves, must have read Homer; you shall be
My Briseis, I your Agamemnon.

Clyt:
You
My Chrysis, I your stout Achilles; These
Two white she Myrmidons will serve to raise
A Breed betweene them and our Pages.

Orith:
Sir,
Have you a sense of Noblenesse?

Clyt.
Yes Lady,
And you shall finde it.

Orith:
Finish your Conquest, then,
And take a life I'me weary of, I am
Your Prisoner, Let me be your slaughter too.

Thal:
Shew your selves equally as valiant in
Our Death, as our Surprize. Take a fraile breath,
Which, to enjoy, with these conditions, will
Adde new weights to our Thraldome; And you will
Afflict us with our preservation.

Orith:
By your owne Lady, Sir, if you have one,
Let me beseech you, kill mee; 'Twill be farre
More noble then to Love me.

Thal:
Every houre
We live your Captives, thus, will seeme an Age
Of Infamy.

Menal:
Madam, Let's stand upon
Our Naturall Defence; They are but two
Against us foure.

Marth:
Let's Mutiny, and by
Our owne swords free our selves. They've onely
A Heart to take us treacherously like Theeves;
But dare not fight with us.

Clyt:
What would you do
Pretty Serjant Major Damsell were you loose,
Who are thus Valiant in your Shackles?

Hypp:
Now
You'l know your Doomes. Here comes our Prince with his
Faire brace of Prisoners.