University of Virginia Library

ACT II.

SCENE I.

The Scene the Duke of Luxemburghs Tent in the French Camp, present himself, the Marquess de Boufflers, the Marshal de Duras, Fevillade, &c.
M. Bouffl.
A trifling Loss, and scarcely worth the naming,
In the whole Action but five hundred slain:
And we must do our Eemies that Justice,
They sallied out like Men inur'd to Arms.

Luxemb.
Relieve the Centrys that have watcht so long,
To the Officers.
Nature must have repose—this stubborn Town
Still vexes me, yet were our num'rous Army
As great as e're was chronicled in Story,
All should be slain ev'n to a single Man,
Before the Kings Pretentions should be lost.

Enter a Messenger.
Messeng.
My Lord, another Sally has been made,
The Enemy attempting to demolish
A Wind-mill to the Counterscarp adjoyning,
Did in the Action kill two hundred Men.

Luxemb.
Let them go on and surfeit with their Glory,
Fortune with these Successes does but flatter 'em,
Like Gamesters they at first have Lucky throws,
This tempts them on to venture deeper still,
Till they at last by one unlucky Chance
Loose all their flatt'ring hopes and store of gain.

Boufflers.
Never was better tim'd this City's Siege,
Secure they liv'd, not Dream'd of such Attacques,
The Governour of all the Spanish Netherlands
Is at the Hague consulting how to form
The Model of this present Summers War,
His presence wanting to inform their Actions,
Like men just rows'd from sleep they talk and act,
But 'tis with such Confusion that they hardly
Know whether that they act or speak at all.

Enter a Second Messenger.
Messenger.
My Lords, his Majesty is with his Highness
The Dauphin, Conde, and the Duke de Chartres,
Together with the chiefest of the Nobles,
Just now arrived in Person in the Camp,
And your immediate Conference commands.

Luxemb.
We go—This, Boufflers is the Soul of Courage,
When our great Monarch does himself appear,
At head of all his Numerous Troops in person,
This no small Comforts to our hopes does bring,
Cowards will Fight when headed by a King.

SCENE II.

A great Noise of Shooting is heard for some time, after which the Scene changes to the City of Mons.
Enter Fagel with several Officers.
Fagel.
Secure the Horn-Works, mount the Canon higher,
And Fire so fast upon 'em, that the Enemy
May loose themselves in Clouds of Fire and Smoak,
I hate to Fight in Jest—How fare the Troops
(to the Officers.
That you command, are they all brave and lusty?

1 Officer.
Like Soldiers in the most exalted sence
They Fight, and if of any fault they'r guilty,
'Tis they expose themselves too near to Danger.

Fagel.
A Messenger is just arrived in Town
From our Chief Head the Marquess Castanaga,
T'inform the Burghers if they still persist
To keep the Town till timely Succours come
They shall be free from Taxes Twenty years:
Had you but seen with what Excess of Joy
The Message they receiv'd, you would have smil'd;
Fighting tho not agreeing with their Temper,
Yet to be freed from Tribute are Valiant,
For they hate Taxes worser than the French.
Enter Collonel Brannacio.
(embracing him)
Welcome thou Soul of War, what sort of News
From Brussels does the Lov'd Brannacio bring?

Col. Brannacio.
News is a Drug, for all Discourse and Talk
Is laid aside, excepting Mons Beleaguer'd;
Of this the very Children learn to prattle,
And it is taken and reliev'd each hour:
'Twas by Disguise my self and some few more
Got into the Town

Fagel.
And how appears the Army?

Branac.
Dreadful enough in sight and apprehension
To those who want true Courage to defy
The Force of such a Formidable Foe.
I met a Gentleman upon the Road,
Going in hast to the Marquess Castanaga
T'inform him of the Present State of Mons,
And press for speedy Succours for our Aid.

Fagel.
Tho Plenty never was esteem'd a Burthen,
At present we no Helps nor Aids require;
Provisions we have got so great a Stock,
To last four Months without the least Recruits;
Our Men are hearty and unanimous,
Each striving who his Fellow shall out-do
For acts of Valour; nay the very Burghers
Are Soldiers too, and hourly on the Walls
The Random Bullets do their Breasts expose.

Brannacio.
The Prince just now receiv'd a haughty Message
From Monsieur Lovis, That for ev'ry day
They stubbornly held out (since their great Monarch
Was in the Camp,) they should for such offence
Pay numerous Crowns for each delaying Morning.
Bravado's—Let them first defend the Claim
They make before they seize upon our Purses.

[A Trumpet heard!]
[Exeunt.]
Enter several Burghers and Souldiers running cross the Stage with Buckets in their hands, crying out, Quench the Fire, quench the Fire. The Scene closes.

Scene 3.

The Scene. The French Kings Tent in the French Camp, in which appears Lewis the XIV. The Dauphin, The Prince of Conde, Monsieur Lovis, The Duke d'Chartres, Monsieur Vauban, and other Officers.
K. of France.
When will my thirst of Glory find a Period?
Since I have aim'd at Universal Monarchy,
A restless thought still raging in my Breast,
Makes my Days irksom, and my Nights unquiet:
Whole Provinces already I've laid desolate,
And where so e're I stretcht my Conquering Arms,
In Blood and Ruins I make good my Title.

Lovis.
By this, great Sir, your Empire you enlarge.

K. F.
'Tis my Ambition Lovis to be great;
Men of my rank do seldom think of dying:
But 'tis methinks a kind of satisfaction,
When after Ages seeing Towns destroy'd,
Shall say, that Lewis made that Desolation.
Does Mons yet still persist in Obstinacy?

Dauphin.
'Tis the old stubborn Town it ever was;
They nothing want to make a brisk Defence.

K. F.
Vauban you nicely have survey'd the place.
Where lyes it's chiefest strength, and where it's weakness?

M. Vauban.
Great Sir, I must confess their Forts are built
By the strict rules of modern Architecture,
Their Bastions strong, their Horn-works regular,
Their Ramparts good, and the deep Moats and Ditches
Add no small strength to the distressed Town.
Four Days your Royal Troops have Mons beleagur'd,
And if my skill in War does not deceive me,
Before the Sun six times goes round the Globe,
The place will yield to your victorious Arms.

K. F.
It shall,—the mighty Lewis says it shall,
If force compel not, then I use my Gold;
No triffling Sum I've brought to give the Souldiers,
Who shall be taken notice of in Battel,
To give the best assurance of their Valour,
Besides some greater Sum for private Service;
I have my Friends in Mons as well as Philip.
Lovis, here, take the Gold (gives a Purse,)
and send it quickly
By some bold lusty Officer of yours
In a Deserters habit to the Town,
And to the Abbotts Grimchi and Vaneufe,
Commend my Love, and tell 'em I'm their Friend;
Let this old Gold express my secret meaning,
The best the Language of my Presents know.

Lovis.
I fly, dread Sir, to execute your Pleasure.
[Exit Lovis.]

Enter Luxemburgh, Bouffleers, &c.
K. F.
How goes the Siege, my Lords? You seem concern'd;
I read some strange confusion in your Faces.

Luxem.
Think not, great Sir, that fear or Cowardize,
Makes us thus wear this sadness on our looks;
To both we're strangers.—'Tis the great concern
We bear to your Majestick Reputation,
Which we suspect will find some Diminution.
In the Attempts upon the stubborn Mons.

F. K.
Have I selected out from all my Troops
The choicest Men, and brought my houshold Guards
Gens d' Arms, Light-horse, and such a Train of Cannon
T'oppose one stubborn Town? and am I baffl'd?
By all the Saints our holy Church adores,
I swear that no expence of Men or Mony
Shall e're be wanting to reduce the Place.

Bouffl.
Great Sir, the Souldiers in your Royal Army
Behave themselves with an uncommon Brav'ry;
But there is no defence against our Fate.

F. K.
Talk not of Fate to me; my Lord, I tell you
Lover-rule her closest laid Designs;
And have her at my beck;—nay more, command her;
And notwithstanding these cross Accidents,
Am certain, that before few days are ended,
This Town of Mons will own me for her Master.
To you Rubenton (speaking to him)
our old trusty Servant,
We give the Government of this Conquer'd City
When e're it falls into Our Royal Hands;
Mean while, you Luxemburgh, Bouffleers, and all
My Officers relating to the Siege,
Open the Trenches, use your utmost force,
To make the Town comply; but if it still
Resists my Arms,—by all the Gods I swear,
Within their streets I'le lay a Scene of Blood
Shall make their Dwellings horrible to Nature.
I will—my Lords, St. Guistan is my Quarters,
Where I with ease refresh my self, still waiting
When the glad News arrives that Mons is taken;
Then with a Grandeur like my self I enter,
As did my Predecessor Julius Cæsar
Along the streets of Rome; for 'tis resolv'd,
Mons shall submit and own my Regal Power,
Or sudden ruine shall the Globe devour.

[Exit with his Train.]
Manent, Luxemburgh and Bouffleers.
Luxemb.
It shall submit—for so our Sovereign swears,
I wish it may, but when I make Reflections
With what true Courage they defend the Town,
I know not what to think.—

Bouffl.
—Besides my Lord,
The Prince of Orange at the Hague, is raising
A numerous Army of pickt chosen Souldiers
To raise the Siege, or else to give us Battel.

Luxemb.
All actions when t'extremity reduc'd
Require our nicest prudence; we no time
For long set-Speeches and Debates can spare;
It must be Action terminates the War.—

[Exeunt Ambo.]

Scene 4.

The Scene changes to the Fort upon Windmill-hill. Engineer Pedro, Spinosa, and other Officers and Souldiers appear.
Pedro.
To see the various effects of Fortune!
Thrice has this place been in the Enemies hands,
And thrice they have been beaten out again,
With more then Roman Bravery by the Souldiers.

Spinosa.
Major, If any thing of War I know,
I think it is not safe to keep the place
In our own Power; indeed? must be confest,
To take it, they have now already lost
In their Attaques about Two thousand Men.
A pretty Sum for such a trifling Post.

Pedro.
Your Advice, What must be done?
My orders from the Prince are independent.
He giving me a large and full Commission,
To act as I should judge most proper for the safety
Of Mons distrest; now, Sir, with low submission
To your grave Judgment, I esteem it fittest
That instantly we blow the Wind-mill up.

Spinosa.
No flattery, Pedro, I resign my self
And thoughts entirely to your wise directions;
Souldier— (speaking to one)
how stands the Enemy abroad?

1. Souldier.

My Lord, they're very busie in working upon the
Trenches, little thinking poor Curs they are digging their own
Graves.

Pedro.

Is the Coast free from any straggling Troops?

2. Souldier.

Yes, my Lord, only half a Dozen or so together, a
louzing themselves in the Sun; I wonder what quarters the poor
Vermin can find upon such thread-bare Coats.

Spinosa.
Then March all out, but not in heaps at once.
But three or four together to the Town,
Put on a chearful look as unconcern'd,
The last that stay, are Pedro and my self,
Who with a Train will blow the Windmill up,
Then try our utmost valour in the Siege.

1. Souldier.

We go, my Lord, we go; but if we should
meet with a Party of French in our way, we cannot forbear boxing
'em for our Lives, poor rotten Rogues; for t'other Day I
twang'd one of them by the Nose, and with a slight pull it came
off into my hand, I believe all his Carcass was of the same Brittle
Ware.

Spinosa.
Be cautious, tho' in all your undertakings.
Pedro have you affixt the Train?

Pedro.
I have, my Lord.

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.

1. Burg.

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.

1. Burg.
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.