 | The Loyal Svbiect |  |
Scæn. 5.
Enter Duke, 2. Posts, Attendants, Gent.Duk.
The Lord Generall sick now? is this a time
For men to creep into their beds? what's become Post
Of my Lieutenant?
Post.
Beaten, and't please your Grace.
And all his forces sparkled.
Duk.
That's but cold newes.
Enter a Gent.
How now, what good newes? are the souldiers ready?
Ge.
Yes sir, but fight they wil not, nor stir from that place
They stand in now, unlesse they have Lord Archas
To lead 'em out: they raile upon this Generall,
And sing songs of him, scurvy songs, to worse tunes:
And much they spare not you sir: here they sweare
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Unlesse Lord Archas come before they fight for't.
It must be so sir.
Du.
I could wish it so too:
And to that end I have sent Lord Burris to him;
But all I feare will faile; we must dye gentlemen,
And one stroak wee'll have for't.
Enter Burris.
What bringst thou Burris?
Bur.
That I am loath to tell: he will not come sir.
I found him at his prayers: there he tells me,
The enemy shall take him, fit for heaven:
I urg'd to him all our dangers, his owne worthes,
The Countries ruine: nay, I kneeld and pray'd him;
He shook his head, let fall a teare, and pointed
Thus with his finger to the ground; a grave
I think he meant; and this was all he answer'd.
Your Grace was much too blame.
Where's the new Generall?
Duk.
He is sick poore man.
Bur.
Hee's a poore man indeed Sir:
Your Grace must needs goe to the souldier.
Duke.
They have sent me word
They will not stirre: they raile at me,
And all the spight they have—
Shout within. Enter Archas, Olimpia, and Alinda.
What shout is that there?
Is the enemy come so neare?
Olim.
I have brought him Sir;
At length I have woo'd him thus farre.
Duke.
Happy sister;
O blessed woman!
Olim.
Use him nobly brother;
You never had more need: And gentlemen,
All the best powers yee have, to tongues turn presently,
To winning and perswading tongues: all my art,
Onely to bring him hither, I have utter'd;
Let it be yours to arme him: And good my Lord,
Though I exceed the limit you allow'd me,
Which was the happinesse to bring ye hither,
And not to urge yee farther: yet, see your Countrey,
Out of your owne sweet spirit now behold it:
Turne round, and look upon the miseries,
Of every side the seares: ô see the dangers;
We finde 'em soonest, therefore heare me first sir.
Duke.
Next heare your Prince;
You have said you lov'd him Archas,
And thought your life too little for his service:
Thinke not your vow to great now, now the time is,
And now you are brought toth'test, touch right now souldier,
Now shew the manly pureness of thy mettle:
Now if thou beest that valued man, that vertuo,
That great obedience teaching all, now stand it.
What I have said forget, my youth was hasty,
And what you said your selfe forgive, you were angry.
If men could live without their faults, they were gods Archas.
He weeps, & holds his hāds up: to him Burris.
Bur.
You have shew'd the Prince his faults:
And like a good Surgeon you have laid
That to 'em makes 'em smart: hee feeles it,
Let 'em not fester now sir: your owne honour,
The bountie of that minde, and your allegeance,
'Gainst which I take it, heaven gives no command sir,
Nor seales no vow, can better teach ye now
What yee have to doe, then I, or this necessity:
Onely this little's left: would ye doe nobly,
And in the eye of honour truely triumph?
Conquer that minde first, and then men are nothing.
Alin.
Last, a poor virgin kneels: for loves sake General,
If ever you have lov'd; for her sake, sir,
For your owne honesty, which is a virgin,
Look up, and pitty us, be bold and fortunate.
You are a Knight, a good, and noble souldier,
And when your spurs were given ye, your sword buckl'd,
Then were you sworne for vertues cause, for beauties,
For chastity to strike: strike now, they suffer:
Now draw your sword, or else you are recreant,
Onely a Knight ith' heeles, ith' heart a Coward:
Your first vow honour made, your last but anger.
Ar.
How like my vertuous wife this thing looks, speaks too?
So would she chide my dulnesse: faire one I thank yee:
My gracious sir, your pardon, next your hand:
Madam, your favour, and your prayers: gentlemen,
Your wishes and your loves; and pretty sweet one,
A favour for your Souldier.
Olim.
Give him this wench.
Al.
Thus doe I tye on victory.
Ar.
My Armour,
My horse, my sword, my tough staffe, and my fortune,
And Olin now I come to shake thy glorie.
Duk.
Goe brave and prosperous, our loves go with thee.
Ol.
Full of thy vertue, and our prayers attend thee.
Bur. &c.
Loden with victory, and we to honour thee.
Al.
Come home the son of honour,
And Ile serve ye.
Exeunt.
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