+ We need not noble Gentlemen to invite Attention, preinstruct you who did write This worthy Story, being confident The mirth joyn'd with grave matter, and Intent To yeild the hearers profit, with delight, Will speake the maker: and to do him right, Would aske a Genius like to his; the age Mourning his losse, and our now widdowed stage In vaine lamenting. I could adde, so far Behind him the most moderne writers are, That when they would commend him, their best praise Ruins the buildings which they strive to raise, To his best memory: so much a friend Presumes to write, secure 'twill not offend The living that are modest, with the rest That may repine he cares not to contest. This debt to Fletcher paid; it is profest By us the Actors, we will do our best To send such favouring friends, as hether come To grace the Scene, pleas'd, and contented home. +

+ Captaine, your friend's prefer'd, the Princesse has her, Who, I assure my selfe, will use her nobly; A prettie sweet one 'tis indeed. Well bred Sir, I doe deliver that upon my credit, And of an honest stock. It seems so Captaine, And no doubt will doe well. Thanks to your care sir; But tell me Noble Colonell, why this habit Of discontent is put on through the Army? And why your valiant father, our great Generall, The hand that taught to strike, the Love that lead all; Why he, that was the father of the warre, He that begot, and bred the Souldier, Why he sits shaking of his Armes, like Autumne, His Collours folded, and his Drums cas'd up, The tongue of war for ever ty'd within us? It must be so: Captaine you are a stranger, But of a small time here a souldier, Yet that time shewes ye a right good, and great one, Else I could tell yee houres are strangely alterd: The young Duke has too many eyes upon him, Too many feares 'tis thought too, and to nourish those, Maintains too many Instruments. Turne their hearts, Or turn their heeles up, heaven: 'Tis strange it should be. The old Duke lov'd him dearely. He deserv'd it; And were he not my Father, I durst tell yee,

+ The memorable hazzards he has run through Deserv'd of this man too; highly deserv'd too; Had they been lesse, they had been safer Putskie, And sooner reach'd regard. There you strook sure sir. Did I never tell thee of a vow he made Some years before the old Duke dyed? I have heard yee Speake often of that vow; but how it was, Or to what end, I never understood yet. Ile tell thee then: and then thou wilt finde the reason: The last great Muster, ('twas before ye serv'd here, Before the last Dukes death, whose honour'd bones Now rest in peace) this yong Prince had the ordering, (To Crowne his fathers hopes) of all the Army: Who (to be short) put all his power to practise; Fashion'd, and drew 'em up; but alas, so poorely So raggedly and loosely, so unsouldier'd, The good Duke blush'd, and call'd unto my father, Who then was Generall: Goe Archas speedily, And chide the Boy, before the souldier finde him, Stand thou between his ignorance and them, Fashion their bodies new to thy direction; Then draw you up, and shew the Prince his errours. My Sire obey'd, and did so; with all duty Inform'd the Prince, and read him all directions: This bred distaste, distaste grew up to anger, And anger into wilde words broke out thus: Well Archas, if I live but to command here, To be but Duke once, I shall then remember, And I shall remember truely, trust me, I shall, And by my Fathers hand; the rest his eyes spoke. To which my Father answer'd (somewhat mov'd too) And with a vow he seal'd it: Royall sir, Since for my faith and fights, your scorne and anger Onely pursue me; if I live to that day,

+ That day so long expected to reward me, By his so ever noble hand you swore by, And by the hand of Justice, never Armes more Shall rib this body in, nor sword hang here, sir: The Conflicts I will doe you service then in, Shall be repentant prayers: So they parted. The time is come; and now you know the wonder. I finde a feare too, which begins to tell me, The Duke will have but poore and slight defences If his hot humour raigne, and not his honour: How stand you with him, Sir? A perdue, Captaine, Full of my fathers danger. He has rais'd a young man, They say a slight young man, I know him not, For what desert? Beleeve it, a brave Gentleman, Worth the Dukes respect, a cleere sweet Gentleman, And of a noble soule: Come, let's retire us, And wait upon my father, who within his houre You will finde an alter'd man. I am sorry for't sir. + Is't not a handsome wench? She is well enough Madam: I have seen a better face, and a straiter body, And yet she is a pretty Gentle-woman. What thinkst thou Petesca? 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 certaine Madam, Nature intended her a right good stomach. She has a good hand.

+ 'Tis good enough to hold fast, And strong enough to strangle the neck of a Lute. What thinke ye of her colour? If it be her owne. 'Tis good black bloud: right weather-proofe I warrant it. What a strange pace she has got? That's but her breeding. And what a manly body; me thinks she looks As though she would pitch the Barre, or goe to Buffets. Yet her behaviour's utterly against it, For me thinks she is too bashfull. Is that hurtfull? Even equall to too bold: either of 'em Madam May doe her injurie when time shall serve her. You discourse learnedly, cal in the wench. What envious fooles are you? Is the rule generall, That women can speak handsomely of none, But those they are bred withall? Scarce well of those Madam, If they believe they may out-shine 'em any way: Our natures are like oyle, compound us with any thing, Yet stil we strive to swim o'th' top: Suppose there were here now, Now in this court of Mosco, a stranger Princesse, Of bloud and beauty equall to your excellence, As many eyes and services stuck on her; What would you think? I would thinke she might deserve it. Your grace shall give me leave not to believe ye; I know you are a woman, and so humourd: Ile tell yee Madam, I could then get more gownes on ye, More caps and feathers, more scarfs, and more silk stockings, With rocking you a sleep with nightly railings Upon that woman, then if I had nine lives I could weare out: by this hand ye' would scratch her eyes out. Thou art deceiv'd foole; now let your own eyes+ mock ye.

+ Come hither girle: Hang me and she be not a handsom one. I feare it will prove indeed so. Did you ever serve yet In any place of worth? No Royall Lady. Hold up your head; fie. Let her alone, stand from her. It shall be now, Of all the blessings my poore youth has pray'd for, The greatest and the happiest to serve you; And might my promise carrie but that credit To be believ'd, because I am yet a stranger, Excellent Lady, when I fall from dutie, From all the service that my life can lend me, May ever-lasting miserie then finde me. What think ye now? = I doe believe, and thank ye; And sure I shall not be so farre forgetfull, To see that honest faith die unrewarded: What must I call your name? Alinda Madam. Can yee sing? A little, when my griefe will give me leave, Lady. What griefe canst thou have wench? Thou art not in love? If I be Madam, 'tis only with your goodnesse; For yet I never saw that man I sighed for. Of what yeares are you? My mother oft has told me, That very day and houre this land was blest With your most happy birth, I first saluted This worlds faire light. Nature was then so busie, And all the graces, to adorn your goodnesse, I stole into the world poore and neglected. 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 you: I hope ye are a Maid? I hope so too, Madam; I am sure for any man: and were I otherwise, Of all the services my hopes could point at, I durst not touch at yours. The great Duke, Madam. Good morrow, sister. A good day to your highnesse. I am come to pray you use no more perswasions For this old stubborne man: nay to command ye: His saile is swell'd too full: he is grown too insolent, Too self-affected, proud: those poore slight services He has done my father, and my self, has blowne him To such a pitch, he flyes to stoop our favours. I am sorry sir: I ever thought those services Both great and noble. However, may it please yee But to consider 'em a true hearts servants, Done out of faith to you, and not selfe-fame: But to consider royall sir, the dangers; When you have slept secure, the mid-night tempests, That as he marcht sung through his aged locks; When you have fed at full, the wants and famines; The fires of heaven, when you have found all temperate, Death with his thousand doores = I have consider'd; No more: and that I will have, shall be. For the best, I hope all still. What handsome wench is that there? My servant, sir. Prethee observe her Burris. Is she not wondrous handsome? speak thy freedome.

+ Shee appeares no lesse to me sir. Of whence is she? Her father I am told is a good gentleman, But farre off dwelling: her desire to serve me Brought her to th' Court, and here her friends have left her. She may find better friends: Ye are welcome faire one, I have not seen a sweeter: by your ladies leave: Nay stand up sweet, we'll have no superstition: You have got a servant; you may use him kindly, And he may honour ye: Good morrow sister. Good morrow to your Grace. How the wench blushes? How like an Angel now she looks? At first jumpe Jumpe into the Dukes armes? we must look to you, Indeed we must, the next jump we are journeymen. I see the ruine of our hopes already, Would she were at home again, milking her father cows. I feare shee'll milke all the great Courtiers first. This has not made yee proud? No certaine, Madam. It was the Duke that kist yee. 'Twas your brother, And therefore nothing can be meant but honour. But say he love ye? That he may with safety: A Princes love extends to all his subjects. But say in more particular? Pray feare not: For vertues sake deliver me from doubts, Lady: 'Tis not the name of King, nor all his promises, His glories, and his greatnesse stuck about me, Can make me prove a Traitor to your service: You are my Mistris, and my noble Master, Your vertues my ambition, and your favour

+ The end of all my love, and all my fortune: And when I faile in that faith = I beleeve thee, Come wipe your eyes; I doe: take you example = I would her eyes were out. If the winde stand in this doore, We shall have but cold custome: some trick or other, And speedily. Let me alone to think on't. Come, be you neare me still. With all my duty. + This is the heaviest march we e're trod Captaine. This was not wont to be: these honour'd pieces The fierie god of warre himselfe would smile at, Buckl'd upon that body, were not wont thus, Like Reliques to be offer'd to long rust, And heavy-ey'd oblivion brood upon 'em. There set 'em downe: and glorious war farewell; Thou childe of honour and ambitious thoughts, Begot in bloud, and nurs'd with Kingdomes ruines; Thou golden danger, courted by thy followers Through fires and famines, for one title from thee, Prodigall man-kinde spending all his fortunes; A long farewell I give thee: Noble Armes, You ribs for mighty mindes, you Iron houses, Made to defie the thunder-claps of Fortune, Rust and consuming time must now dwell with yee: And thou good Sword that knewst the way to conquest,

+ Upon whose fatall edge despaire and death dwelt, That when I shooke thee thus, fore-shew'd destruction, Sleep now from bloud, and grace my Monument: Farewell my Eagle; when thou flew'st, whole Armies Have stoopt below thee: At Passage I have seen thee, Ruffle the Tartars, as they fled thy furie; And bang 'em up together, as a Tassell, Upon the streach, a flock of fearfull Pigeons. I yet remember when the Volga curl'd, The aged Volga, when he heav'd his head up, And rais'd his waters high, to see the ruines, The ruines our Swords made, the bloudy ruines; Then flew this Bird of honour bravely, Gentlemen; But these must be forgotten: so must these too, And all that tend to Armes, by me for ever. Take 'em you holy men; my Vow take with 'em, Never to weare 'em more: Trophies I give 'em, And sacred Rites of warre to adorne the Temple: There let 'em hang, to tell the world their master Is now Devotions souldier, fit for prayer. Why doe ye hang your heads? why look you sad friends? I am not dying yet. Ye are indeed to us sir. Dead to our fortunes, Generall. You'll finde a better, A greater, and a stronger man to lead yee, And to a stronger fortune: I am old, friends, Time, and the wars together make me stoop, gentlemen, Stoop to my grave: my minde unfurnish'd too, Emptie and weak as I am: my poore body, Able for nothing now but contemplation, And that will be a taske too to a Souldier: Yet had they but encourag'd me, or thought well Of what I have done, I thinke I should have ventur'd For one knock more. I should have made a shift yet To have broke one staffe more, handsomly, and have dyed

+ Like a good fellow, and an honest souldier, In the head of ye all, with my sword in my hand, And so have made an end of all with credit. Well, there will come an houre, when all these injuries, These secure slights = Ha! no more of that sirrah, Not one word more of that I charge ye. I must speak sir. And may that tongue forget to sound your service, That's dumbe to your abuses. Understand foole, That voluntary I sit downe. 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 un-noblenesse, Indeed forgetfulnesse of good = No more, As thou art mine no more. Whose doubts and envies = But the devil will have his due. Good gentle Colonell. And though disgraces, and contempt of honour Reigne now, the wheele must turne againe. Peace sirrah, Your tongue's too saucy: doe ye stare upon me? Downe with that heart, downe suddenly, down with it, Downe with that disobedience; tye that tongue up. Tongue? Doe not provoke me to forget my vow, sirrah, And draw that fatall sword againe in anger. For heavens sake, Colonell. Doe not let me doubt Whose Sonne thou art, because thou canst not suffer: Doe not play with mine anger; if thou dost, By all the loyalty my heart holds =

+ I have done sir, 'Pray pardon me. I pray ye be worthy of it: Beshrew your heart, you have vext me. I am sorrie sir. Goe to, no more of this: be true and honest, I know ye are man enough, mold it to just ends, And let not my disgraces; then I am miserable, When I have nothing left me but thy angers. And't please ye sir, the Duke. Now, what's all this? The meaning of this ceremonious Embleme? Your Grace should first remember = There's his nature. I doe, and shall remember still that injury, That at the Muster, where it pleas'd your greatnesse To laugh at my poore souldiership, to skorne it; And more, to make me seem ridiculous, Took from my hands my charge. O thinke not so Sir. And in my Fathers sight. Heaven be my witnesse I did no more (and that with modestie, With love and faith to you) then was my warrant, And from your Father seal'd: nor durst that rudenesse And impudence of scorne fall from my haviour, I ever yet knew duty. We shall teach yee: I well remember too, upon some words I told ye, Then at that time, some angrie words ye answer'd, If ever I were Duke, you were no souldier. You have kept your word, and so it shall be to you. From henceforth I dismisse ye; take your ease sir.

+ I humbly thanke your Grace; this wasted body, Beaten and bruis'd with Armes, dry'd up with troubles, Is good for nothing else but quiet, now sir, And holy prayers; in which, when I forget To thanke high heaven for all your bounteous favours, May that be deafe, and my Petitions perish. What a smooth humble cloak he has cas'd his pride in? And how he has pull'd his clawes in? ther's no trusting = Speake for the best. Beleeve I shall doe ever. To make yee understand we feele not yet Such dearth of valour, and experience, Such a declining age of doing spirits, That all should be confin'd within your Excellence, And you, or none be honour'd, take Boroskie The place he has commanded, lead the Souldier; A little time will bring thee to his honour, Which has been nothing, but the worlds opinion, The souldiers fondnesse, and a little fortune, Which I believe his sword had the least share in. O that I durst but answer now. Good Colonell. My heart wil break elso: Royal sir, I know not What you esteem mens lives, whose hourely labours, And losse of bloud, consumptions in your service, Whose bodies are acquainted with more miseries, And all to keep you safe, then Dogs or slaves are. His sword the least gain'd? You will not fight with me? No Sir, I dare not, You are my Prince: but I dare speake to yee, And dare speak truth, which none of their ambitions, That be informers to you dare once thinke of; Yet truth will now but anger yee: I am sorry for't. And so I take my leave. Ev'n when you please Sir. Sirrah, see me no more.

+ And so may you too: You have a house ith' Countrey, keep you there Sir, And when you have rul'd your self, teach your son manners. For this time I forgive him. Heaven forgive all: And to your Grace a happie and long rule here. And you Lord Generall, may your fights be prosperous. In all your course, may Fame and Fortune Court you. Fight for your Countrey, and your Princes safetie; Boldly, and bravely face your enemie, And when you strike, strike with that killing vertue, As if a generall plague had seiz'd before ye; Danger, and doubt, and labour cast behinde yee, And then come home an old and noble storie. A little comfort sir. As little as may be: Farewell, you know your limit. Alas, brave gentleman. I doe, and will observe it suddenly: My grave; #I, that's my limit: 'tis no new thing, Nor that can make me start, or tremble at it, To buckle with that old grim souldier now; I have seen him in his sowrest shapes and dreadfull'st; I, and I thanke my honestie, have stood him: That audit's cast: Farewell my honest souldiers, Give me your hands: Farewell, fare-well good Ancient, A stout man, and a true, thou art come in sorrow. Blessings upon your swords, may they ne're faile yee. You doe but change a man: your fortune's constant; That by your ancient valours is ty'd fast still: Be valiant still and good; and when ye fight next, When flame and furie make but one face of horror, When the great rest of all your honour's up, When you would thinke a spell to shake the enemy, Remember me: my prayers shall be with yee. So once againe farewell.

+ Let's wait upon yee. No, no, it must not be: I have now left me A single fortune to my selfe, no more, Which needs no traine, nor complement: good Captain, You are an honest and a sober gentleman, And one I thinke has lov'd me. I am sure on't. Look to my boy, he's grown too head-strong for me, And if they think him fit to carrie Armes still, His life is theirs: I have a house ith' Countrey, And when your better houres will give ye liberty See me: you shall be walcome. Fortune to ye. Ile cry no more, that will doe him no good, And 'twill but make me drie, and I have no money: Ile fight no more, and that will doe them harme; And if I can do that I care not for money: I could have curst reasonable well, and I have had the luck too To have 'em hit sometimes: Whosoever thou art, That like a devill didst possesse the Duke With these malitious thoughts; mark what I say to thee, A plague upon thee, that's but the Preamble. O take the pox too. They'll cure one another: I must have none but kills, and those kill stinking: Or look ye, let the single pox possesse them, Or pox upon pox. That's but #ill i'th' Armes sir. 'Tis worse ith' legs, I would not wish it else: And may those grom to scabs as big as Mole-hils, And twice a day, the devill with a Currie-combe Scratch 'em, and scrub 'em. I warrent him he has 'em. May he be ever lowzie. That's a pleasure, The Beggars Leacherie: sometime the Souldiers: May he be ever lazie, stink where he stands, And Maggots breed in's braines.

+ #I marrie sir, May he fall mad in love with his Grand-mother, And kissing her, may her teeth drop into his mouth, And one fall crosse his throat, then let him gargell. Now, what's the matler? Where's the Duke pray gentlemen? Keep on your way, you cannot misse. I thanke yee. If he be married, may he dreame hee's Cuckol'd, And when he wakes, believe, and sweare he saw it: Sue a divorce, and after finde her honest: Then in a pleasant Pigsty with his owne garters, And a fine running knot, ride to the devil. If these would doe = Ile never trust my minde more, If all these faile. What shall we doe now Captaine? For by this honest hand Ile be torne a pieces, Unlesse my old Generall goe, or some that love him, And love us equall too, before I fight more: I can make a shooe yet, and draw it on too, If I like the legge well. Fight? 'tis likely. No, there well be the sport boys, when ther's need on's. They thinke the other Crowne will doe, will carry us, And the brave golden coat of Captain Cankro Boroskie: What a noyse his very name carries? 'Tis gun enough to fright a nation, He needs no souldiers: if he doe, for my part, I promise ye, he's like to seek 'em: so I thinke you thinke too, And all the Army: No, honest brave old Archas, We cannot so soon leave thy memory, So soon forget thy goodnesse: he that does, The scandall, and the scumme of Armes be counted.

+ You much rejoice me, now you have hit my meaning: I durst not presse ye, till I found your spirts. Continue thus. Ile goe and tell the Duke on't. No, no, hee'll finde it soone enough, and feare it, When once occasion comes: Another Packet. From whence friend come yee? From the borders sir. What newes sir, I beseech yee? Fire and sword gentlemen; The Tartar's up, and with a mighty force, Comes forward like a tempest, all before him Burning and killing. Brave boyes; brave newes boyes. Either we must have present helpe = Still braver. Where lyes the Duke? Hee's there. 'Save ye gentlemen. We are safe enough, I warrant thee: Now the time's come. #I now 'tis come indeed, and now stand firm boyes, And let 'em burne on merrily. This City would make a marvelous fine bone-fire: 'Tis old dry timber, and such wood has no fellow. Here will be trim piping anon and whining, Like so many Pigs in a storme, when they heare the newes once. Here's one has heard it already, room for the Generall. Say I am falne exceeding sick oth' suddain, And am not like to live. If ye goe on Sir, For they will kill yee certainly: they look for yee. I see your Lordships bound, take a suppository,

+ 'Tis I Sir; a poor cast Flag of yours. The foolish Tartars They burne and kill, and't like your honour, kill us, Kill with Guns, with Guns my Lord, with Guns Sir. What sayes your Lordship to a chick in sorrell sops? Go, go thy wayes old true-peny; thou hast but one fault, Thou art ev'n too valiant. Come toth' Army gentlemen, And let's make them acquainted. Away, we are for ye. + Why whither run ye fools, wil ye leave my Lady? The Tartar comes, the Tartar comes. Why let him, I had thought you had feard no men: upon my conscience You have try'd their strengths already: stay for shame. Shift for thy selfe Alinda. Beauty blesse ye: Into what Grooms Feather-bed will yee creep now? And there mistake the enemy: sweet youths ye are, And of a constant courage: are you afraid of foyning? O my good wench, what shall become of us? The Posts come hourely in, and bring new danger; The Enemy is past the Volga, and beares hither With all the bloud and crueltie he carries: My brother now will find his fault. I doubt me, Somewhat too late too Madam: but pray feare not, All will be well I hope. Sweet Madam shake not. How cam'st thou by this spirt? our Sex tremble. I am not unacquainted with these dangers: And you shall know my truth; for e're you perish, A hundred swords shall passe though me: 'tis but dying. And Madam we must doe it: the manner's all:

+ You have a Princely Birth, take Princely thoughts to ye, And take my councell too; goe presently, With all the haste yee have, (I will attend ye) With all the possible speed, to old Lord Archas, He honours yee: with all your art perswade him, ('Twill be a dimall time else) wooe him hither, But hither Madam; make him see the danger; For your new Generall looks like an asse; There's nothing in his face but losse. Ile doe it, And thank thee sweet Alinda: O my Jewell, How much I am bound to love thee: by this hand wench If thou wert a man = I would I were to fight for yee. But haste deare Madam. I need no spurres Alinda. + The Lord Generall sick now? is this a time For men to creep into their beds? what's become, Post, Of my Lieutenant? Beaten, and't please your Grace, And all his forces sparkled. That's but cold newes. How now, what good newes? are the souldiers ready? Yes sir, but fight they wil not, nor stir from that+ place They stand in now, unless 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 They'll stand and see the Citie burnt, and dance about it,

+ Unlesse Lord Archas come before they fight for't. It must be so sir. 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. What bringst thou Burris? 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? He is sick poore man. Hee's a poore man indeed Sir: Your Grace must needs goe to the souldier. They have sent Me word they will not stirre: they raile at me, And all the spight they have = What shout is that there? Is the enemy come so neare? I have brought him Sir; At length I have woo'd him thus farre. Happy sister; O blessed woman! 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 feares: o see the dangers; We finde 'em soonest, therefore heare me first sir. 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 vertue, 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, and holds his hands up: to him Burris. You have shew'd the Prince his faults: and like a good+ Surgeon You have laid that to 'em makes 'em smart: hee feels 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. 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. 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. Give him this wench. Thus doe I tye on victory. My Armour, My horse, my sword, my tough staffe, and my fortune, And Olin now I come to shake thy glorie. Goe brave and prosperous, our loves go with thee. Full of thy vertue, and our prayers attend thee. Loden with victory, and we to honour thee. Come home the son of honour, and Ile serve ye. + No newes of Archas yet? But now, and't please ye A Post came in, letters he brought none with him, But this deliver'd: He saw the Armies joyne, The game of bloud begun, and by our Generall, Who never was acquainted, but with Conquest, So bravely fought, he saw the Tartars shaken, And there he said he left 'em Where's Boroskie? He is up againe, and't please ye. Sir, me thinks This newes should make yee lightsome, bring joy to ye,

+ It strikes our hearts with generall comfort. Gone? What should this meane, so suddenly? Hee's well? We see no other. Would the rest were well too, That put these starts into him. Ile goe after him. 'Twill not be fit Sir: h'as some secret in him He would not be disturb'd in: know you any thing Has crost him since the Generall went? Not any. If there had been, I am sure I should have found it; Onely I have heard him oft complaine for money; Money he sayes he wants. It may be that then. To him that has so many wayes to raise it, And those so honest, it cannot be. He comes back, And Lord Boroskie with him. There the game goes, I feare some new thing hatching. Come hether Burris, Go see my Sister, and commend me to her, And to my little Mistrisse give this token; Tell her I'le see her shortly. Yes, I shall sir. Waite you without: I would yet try him further. 'Twill not be much amisse: has your grace heard yet Of what he had done i'th' field? A Post but now Came in, who saw 'em joyne, and 'has deliver'd, The enemy gave ground before he parted. 'Tis well. Come, speake thy mind man: 'tis not for fighting And noise of War I keepe thee in my bosome,

+ Thy ends are nearer to me; from my childhood Thou brought'st me up: and like another nature, Made good all my necessities: speake boldly. Sir, what I utter, will be thought but envy Though I intend, high heaven knows, but your honour, When vaine and empty people shall proclaime me = Good sir excuse me. Do you feare me for your enemy? Speake on your dutie. Then I must, and dare sir. When he comes home, take heed the Court receive him not, Take heed he meet not with their loves, and praises, That glasse will shew him ten times greater Sir, And make him strive to make good that proportion, Then ere his fortune bred him: he is honourable, At least I strive to understand him so, And of a nature, if not this way poyson'd, Perfect enough, easie, and sweet, but those are soone seduc'd sir; He's a great man, and what that pill may worke, Prepar'd by generall voyces of the people, Is the end of all my councell: only this sir, Let him retire a while, there's more hangs by it Then you know yet: there if he stand a while well, But till the Souldier coole, who, for their service You must pay now most liberally, most freely, And shewre your selfe into 'em; 'tis the bounty They follow with their loves, and not the bravery. But wher's the money? how now? Sir the Collonell, Son to the Lord Archas, with most happy newes Of the Tartars overthrow, without here Attends your graces pleasure.

+ Be not seen sir, He's a bold fellow, let me stand his thunders, Toth' Court he must not come: no blessing here sir, No face of favour, if you love your honour. Do what you thinke is meetest; I'le retire sir. Conduct him in sir = Welcome noble Collonell. That's much from your Lordship: pray where's the+ Duke? We heare you have beat the Tartar. Is he busie sir? Have ye taken Olin yet? I would faine speake with him. How many men have ye lost? Do's he lye this way? I am sure you fought it bravely. I must see him. You cannot yet, ye must not, what's your Commission? No gentleman o'th' Chamber here? Why, pray ye sir? Am not I fit to entertaine your businesse? I thinke you are not sir; I am sure ye shall not. I bring no tales, nor flatteries: In my tongue sir, I carry no fork'd stings. You keepe your bluntnesse. You are deceiv'd: it keeps me: I had felt else Some of your plagues ere this: but good sir trifle not, I have businesse to the Duke. He's not well sir, And cannot now be spoke withall. Not well sir? How would he ha' been, if we had lost? not well sir?

+ I bring him newes to make him well: his enemie That would have burnt his City here, and your house too, Your brave gilt house, my Lord, your honours hangings, Where all your Ancestors, and all their battles, Their silke and golden battles are decipher'd: That would not only have abus'd your buildings, Your goodly buildings sir, and have drunke dry your butteries, Purloin'd your Lordships plate, the Duke bestow'd on you, For turning hansomely o'th' toe, and trim'd your Virgins, Trim'd 'em of a new cut, and't like your Lordship, 'Tis ten to one, your wife too, and the curse is You had had no remedy against these Rascals, No Law, and't like your honour; would have kil'd you too And roasted ye, and eaten ye, ere this time: Notable knaves my Lord, unruly Rascals: These youths have we tide up, put muzzels on 'em, And pair'd their nailes, that honest civill Gentlemen, And such most noble persons as your selfe is, May live in peace, and rule the land with a twine thread. These newes I bring. And were they thus deliver'd ye? My Lord, I am no pen-man, nor no Orator, My tongue was never oyl'd with Here and't like ye, There I beseech yee, weigh, I am a souldier, And truth I covet onely, no fine termes sir; I come not to stand treating here; my businesse Is with the Duke, and of such general blessing = You have overthrowne the enemy, we know it, And we rejoyce in't; ye have done like honest subjects, You have done handsomely and well. But well sir? But handsomely and well? what, are we juglers? Ile doe all that in cutting up a Capon. But handsomely and well? does your Lordship take us For the Dukes Tumblers? we have done bravely sir, Ventur'd our lives like men.

+ Then bravely be it. And for as brave rewards we look, and graces, We have sweat and bled for't sir. And ye may have it, If you will stay the giving. Men that thank themselves first, For any good they doe, take off the lustre, And blot the benefit. Are these the welcomes, The Bells that ring out our rewards? pray heartily, Early and late, there may be no more enemies: Doe my good Lord, pray seriously, and sigh too, For if there be = They must be met, and fought with. By whom? by you? they must be met and flattered. Why, what a devil aild ye to do these things? With what assurance dare ye mocke men thus? You have but single lives, and those I take it A Sword may find too: why do ye dam the Duke up? And choake that course of love, that like a River Should fill our empty veines againe with comforts? But if ye use these knick knacks, This faste and loose, with faithfull men and honest, You'l be the first will find it. You are too untemperate. Better be so, and theefe too, then unthankfull: Pray use this old man so, and then we are paid all. The Duke thanks ye for your service, and the Court thanks ye, And wonderfull desirous they are to see ye; Pray heaven we have roome enough to march for May-games, Pageants, and bonfires for your welcome home Sir; Here your most noble friend the Lord Boroskey, A Gentleman too tender of your credit, And ever in the Dukes eare, for your good Sir,

+ Crazie and sickly, yet to be your servant, Has leapt into the open aire to meet ye. The best is your words wound not, you are welcome+ home Sir. Hartily welcome home, and for your service, The noble overthrow you gave the Enemy, The Duke salutes ye too with all his thanks Sir. Sure they will now regard us. There's a reason: But by the changing of the Colonels countenance, The rolling of his eyes like angry billowes; I feare the wind's not downe yet, Ancient. Is the Duke well Sir? Not much unhealthy, Only a little grudging of an ague, Which cannot last: he has heard, which makes him fearful, And loath as yet to give your worth due welcome, The sicknesse hath been somewhat hot i'th' Army, Which happily may prove more doubt, then danger, And more his feare then fate: yet howsoever, An honest care = Ye say right, and it shall be; For though upon my life 'tis but a rumor, A meere opinion, without faith or feare in't; For Sir, I thanke heaven, we never stood more healthy, Never more hugh and lusty; yet to satisfie, We cannot be too curious, or too carefull Of what concernes his state, wee'l draw away Sir, And lodge at further distance, and lesse danger. It will be well. It will be very scurvy. I smell it out, it stinks abominably, Stir it no more. The Duke Sir would have you too, For a short day or two, retyre to your owne house,

+ Whither himselfe will come to visit ye, And give ye thanks. I shall attend his pleasure. A trick, a lowsie trick: so hoa, a trick boyes. How now, what's that? I thought I had found a Hare Sir, But 'tis a Fox, an old Fox, shall we hunt him? No more such words. The souldier's growne too sawcy, You must tie him straiter up. I doe my best Sir; But men of free-born minds sometimes will flie out. May not we see the Duke? Not at this time Gentlemen, Your Generall knowes the cause. We have no plague Sir, Unlesse it be in our pay, nor no pox neither; Or if we had, I hope that good old Courtier Will not deny us place there. Certaine my Lord, Considering what we are, and what we have done; If not, what need ye may have, 'twould be better, A great deale nobler, and taste honester To use us with more sweetnes; men that dig And lash away their lives at the Carts taile, Double our comforts; meat, and their Masters thanks too, When they worke well, they have; Men of our qualitie, When they doe well, and venture for't with valor, Fight hard, lye hard, feed hard; when they come home Sir, And know these are deserving things, things worthy, Can you then blame 'em if their minds a little Be stirr'd with glory? 'tis a pride becomes 'em, A litle season'd with ambition, To be respected, reckon'd well, and honour'd For what they have don: when to come home thus poorly, And met with such unjointed joy, so looked on,

+ As if we had done no more but drest a horse well; So entertain'd, as if I thank ye Gentlemen, Take that to drinke, had pow'r to please a souldier? Where be the shouts, the bels rung out, the people? The Prince himself? Peace: I perceive your eye Sir Is fixt upon this Captaine for his freedome, And happily you find his tongue too forward; As I am Master of the place, I carry, 'Tis fit I thinke so too; but were I this man, No stronger tye upon me, then the truth And tongue to tell it, I should speake as he do's, And thinke with modestie enough, such Saints That daily thrust their loves and lives through hazards, And fearelesse for their Countries peace, march hourely Through all the doores of death, and know the darkest, Should better be canoniz'd for their service: What labour would these men neglect, what danger Where honour is, though seated in a billow, Rising as high as heaven, would not these souldiers, Like to so many Sea-gods charge up to it? Doe you see these swords? times Sithe was ne're so sharp Sir; Nor ever at one harvest mow'd such handfuls: Thoughts ne're so sudden, nor beliefe so sure, When they are drawne, and were it not sometimes, I swim upon their angers to allay 'em, And like a calme depresse their fell intentions, They are so deadly sure, nature would suffer = And whose are all these glories? why, their Princes, Their Countries, and their Friends! Alas, of all these, And all the happy ends they bring, the blessings, They only share the labors: a little joy then, And outside of a welcome, at an upshot Would not have done amisse sir; But howsoever Between me and my duty, no crack Sir Shall dare appeare: I hope by my example

+ No discontent in them: = without doubt Gentlemen, The Duke will both looke suddenly and truly On your deserts: = Methinks 'twere good they were paid Sir. They shall be immediately; I stay for mony; And any favour else = We are all bound to ye; And so I take my leave Sir; when the Duke pleases To make me worthy of his eyes = Which will be suddenly, I know his good thoughts to ye. With all duty, And all humility, I shall attend Sir. Once more you are welcome home: these shall be+ satisfied. Be sure we be: and hansomely. Waite you on me sir. And honestly: no jugling. Will ye come sir? Pray do not doubt. We are no Boyes. Well sir. Here's money from the Duke, and't please your+ Lordship. 'Tis well. How sowre the Souldiers looke? Is't told? Yes: and for every company a double pay, And the Dukes love to all. That's worth a ducket. You that be Officers, see it discharg'd then, Why do not ye take it up? 'Tis too heavy: 'Body o' me, I have strain'd mine arme. Do ye scorne it?

+ Has your Lordship any dice about ye? sit round+ Gentlemen, And come on seaven for my share. Do you thinke sir, This is the end we fight? can this durt draw us To such a stupid tamenesse, that our service Neglected, and look'd lamely on, and skewd at With a few honourable words, and this, is righted? Have not we eyes and eares, to heare and see Sir, And minds to understand the slights we carry? I come home old, and full of hurts, men looke on me As if I had got 'em from a whore, and shun me; I tell my griefes, and feare my wants, I am answer'd, Alas 'tis pity! pray dine with me on Sunday: These are the sores we are sicke of, the minds malladies, And can this cure 'em? you should have us'd us nobly, And for our doing well, as well proclam'd us, To the worlds eye have shewd and sainted us, Then ye had paid us bravely: then we had shin'd sir, Not in this gilded stuffe but in our glory: You may take backe your money. This I fear'd still. Consider better Gentlemen. Thanke your Lordship: And now I'l put on my considering cap: My Lord, that I am no Courtier, you may guesse it By having no sute to you for this money: For though I want, I want not this, nor shall not, Whilst you want that civility to ranke it With those rights we expected; money growes sir, And men must gather it, all is not put in one purse. And that I am no Carter, I could never whistle yet: But that I am a Souldier, and a Gentleman, And a fine Gentleman, and't like your honour, And a most pleasant companion: all you that are witty:

+ Come list to my ditty: come set in boyes, With your Lordships patience. How do you like my Song, my Lord? Even as I like your self, but 'twould be a great deale+ better, You would prove a great deale wiser, and take this mony, In your owne phrase I speak now sir, + and 'tis very well You have learn'd to sing; for since you prove so liberall, To refuse such meanes as this, maintaine your voice still, 'Twill prove your best friend. 'Tis a singing age sir, A merry moone here now: I'le follow it: Fidling and fooling now, gaines more then fighting. What is't you blench at? what would you aske? speak+ freely. And so we dare: a triumph for the Generall. And then an honour speciall to his vertue. That we may be prefer'd that have serv'd for it, And cram'd up into favour like the worshipfull, At least upon the Cities charge made drunke For one whole year; we have done 'em ten yeares service; That we may enjoy our lechery without grudging, And mine, or thine be nothing, all things equall, And catch as catch may be proclamed: that when we borrow, And have no will to pay againe, no Law Lay hold upon us, nor no Court controule us. Some of these may come to passe; the Duke may do 'em, And no doubt will: the Generall will find too, And so will you, if you but stay with patience = I have no power. Nor will: come fellow Souldiers. Pray be not so distrustfull. There are waies yet, And honest waies; we are not brought up Statues. If your Lordship have any silke stockings, that have+ holes i'th' heeles,

+ Or ever an honourable Cassock that wants buttons, I could have cur'd such malladies: your Lordships custome And my good Ladies, if the bones want setting In her old bodies = This is disobedience. Eight pence a day, and hard Eggs. Troop off Gentlemen, Some Coine we have, whilst this lasts, or our credits, Wee'll never sell our Generalls worth for six-pence. Ye are beholding to us. Fare ye well Sir, And buy a pipe with that: doe ye see this skarfe sir? By this hand Ile cry Brooms in't, birchen Brooms sir, Before I eate one bit from your benevolence. Now to our old occupations againe. By your leave Lord. You will bite when ye are sharper; take up the+ money. = This love I must remove, this fondnes to him, This tendernesse of heart; I have lost my way else. = There is no sending man, they will not take it, They are yet too full of pillage, They'll dance for't ere't be long: Come, bring it after. How now, refus'd their money? Very bravely, And stand upon such termes 'tis terrible. Where's Archas? Hee's retir'd Sir, to his house, According to your pleasure, full of dutie To outward shew: but what within = Refuse it? Most confidently: 'tis not your revenewes Can feed them sir, and yet they have found a Generall

+ That knowes no ebbe of bountie: there they eate Sir, And loath your invitations. 'Tis not possible, Hee's poor as they. You'll find it otherwise. Pray make your journey thither presently, Ans as ye goe Ile open yee a wonder. Good sir this morning. Follow me, Ile doe it. + But doe you thinke my brother loves her. Certaine Madam. He speaks much of her, and sometimes with wonder, Oft wishes she were nobler borne. Doe you thinke him honest? Your Grace is nearer to his heart, then I am, Upon my life I hold him so. 'Tis a poore wench, I would not have her wrong'd: methinks my Brother = But I must not give rules to his affections; Yet if he weigh her worth = You need not feare Madam. I hope I shall not: Lord Burris I love her well; I know not, there is something Makes me bestow more then a care upon her: I doe not like that ring, from him to her; I meane to women of her way, such tokens Rather appeare as baits, then royall bounties: I would not have it so. You will not find it, Upon my troth I thinke his most ambition Is but to let the world know 'has a hansome Mistris: Will your Grace command me any service to him?

+ Remember all my duty. Blessings crowne ye: What's your will Lady? Any thing that's honest; And if you thinke it fits so poore a service, Clad in a ragged vertue, may reach him, I doe beseech your Lordship speake it humbly. Faire one I will: in the best phrase I have too, And so I kisse your hand. Your Lordships servant. Come hither wench, what art thou doing with that Ring. I am looking on the posie, Madam. What is't? The Jewel's set within. But where the joy wench, When that invisible Jewel's lost? why dost thou smile so? What unhappy meaning hast thou? Nothing Madam, But only thinking what strange spels these Rings have, And how they worke with some. I feare with you too. This could not cost above a Crowne. 'Twill cost you The shaving of your crowne, if not the washing. But he that sent it, makes the vertue greater. #I and the vice too Madam: goodnes blesse me: How fit 'tis for my finger. No doubt you'l find too A finger fit for you. Sirrah, Petesca, What wilt thou give me for the good that followes this? But thou hast Rings enough, thou art provided: Heigh ho, what must I doe now? You'l be taught that, The easiest part that e're you learn't, I warrant you.

+ Ay me, ay me. You will divide too, shortly, Your voice comes finely forward. Come hither wanton, Thou art not surely as thou saist. I would not: But sure there is a witchcraft in this Ring, Lady, Lord how my heart leaps. 'Twill goe pit a pat shortly. And now methinks a thousand of the Dukes shapes = Will no lesse serve ye? In ten thousand smiles = Heaven blesse the wench. With eyes that will not be denide to enter; And such soft sweet embraces; take it from me, I am undone else Madam: I'm lost else. What ailes the girle? How suddenly I'm alter'd? And growne my selfe againe? doe not you feele it? Weare that, and I'le weare this: I'le try the strength on't. How cold my bloud growes now? Here's sacred vertue: When I leave to honour this, Every houre to pay a kisse, When each morning I arise, Or I forget a sacrifice: When this figure in my faith, And the purenes that it hath, I pursue not with my will, Nearer to arrive at still: When I lose, or change this Jewell, Flie me faith, and heaven be cruell. You have halfe confirm'd me, keep but that way sure, And what this charme can doe, let me endure. +

+ Carry your selfe discreetly, it concernes me, The Duke's come in, none of your froward passions, Nor no distates to any: Prethee Theodor, By my life, boy, 'twill ruine me. I have done Sir, So there be no foule play he brings along with him. What's that to you? Let him bring what please him, and whom, and how. So they meane well = Is't fit you be a Judge sirrah? 'Tis fit I feele Sir. Get a banquet ready, And trim your selves up hansomly. To what end? Doe you meane to make 'em whores? Hang up a signe then, And set 'em out to Livery. Whose sonne art thou? Yours Sir, I hope: but not of your disgraces. Full twenty thousand men I have commanded, And all their minds with this, calm'd all their angers; And shall a boy of mine owne breed too, of mine owne bloud, One crooked stick = Pray take your way, and thrive in't, I'le quit your house; if taint or black dishonour Light on ye, 'tis your owne, I have no share in't. Yet if it doe fall out so, as I feare it, And partly find it too = Hast thou no reverence? No dutie in thee? This shall shew I obey ye: I dare not stay: I would have shew'd my love too, And that you aske as duty, with my life sir, Had you but thought me worthy of your hazzards,

+ Which heaven preserve ye from, and keep the Duke too: And there's an end of my wishes, God be with ye. Stubborne, yet full of that we all love, honesty. Lord Burris, where's the Duke? In the great chamber, Sir, And there stayes till he see you, ye' have a fine house here. A poore contented lodge, unfit for his presence, Yet all the joy it hath. I hope a great one, And for your good, brave Sir. I thanke ye Lord: And now my service to the Duke. I'le wait on ye. + May this be credited? Disgrace me else, And never more with favour looke upon me. It seems impossible. It cannot chuse Sir, Till your owne eies behold it; but that it is so, And that by this meanes the too haughtie souldier Has been so cramm'd and fed, he cares not for ye; Beleeve, or let me perish: Let your eyes As you observe the house, but where I point it, Make stay, and take a view, and then you have found it. I'le follow your direction: welcome Archas, You are welcome home brave Lord, we are come to visit ye, And thanke ye for your service.

+ 'Twas so poore, Sir, In true respect of what I owe your Highnesse, It merits nothing. Are these faire ones yours Lord? Their mother made me thinke so Sir. Stand up Ladies: Beshrew my heart they are faire ones; methinks fitter The lustre of the Court, then thus live darken'd: I would see your house Lord Archas, it appears to me, A hansome pile. 'Tis neate but no great structure; I'le be your Graces guide, give me the keyes there. Lead on, wee'l follow ye: begin with the Gallery, I think that's one. 'Tis so, and't please ye Sir. The rest above are lodgings all. Goe on Sir. + The Duke gone thither, doe you say? Yes marry doe I, And all the ducklings too: but what they'l doe there = I hope they'l crowne his service. With a Custard; This is no weather for rewards; they crowne his service? Rather, they goe to shave his crowne: I was rated, As if I had been a dog had worried sheep, out of doores, For making but a doubt. They must now grace him. Marke but the end. I am sure they should reward him, they cannot want him. They that want honesty, want any thing. The Duke is so noble in his owne thoughts. That I grant ye, If those might only sway him: but 'tis most certaine,

+ So many new borne flyes, his light gave life too, Buzze in his beames, flesh flies, and Butterflies, Horners, and humming Scarrabs, that not one honey Bee That's loden with true labour, and brings home Encrease, and credit, can scape rifling, And what she sucks for sweet, they turne to bitternesse. Shall we go see what they do and talke our minds to 'em? That we have done too much, and to no purpose. Shall we be hang'd for him? I have a great mind to be hang'd now for doing Some brave thing for him; a worse end will take me And for an action of no worth; not honour him? Upon my conscience even the devill, the very devill (Not to belye him) thinkes him an honest man, I am sure he sent him soules any times these twenty years, Able to furnish all his fishmarket. Leave thy talking And come, let's go to dinner and drinke to him, We shall heare more ere supper time: if he be honour'd, He has deserv'd it well, and we shall fight for't: If he be ruin'd so, we know the worst then, And for my selfe I'le meet it. I ne're feare it. + They are handsome roomes all, well contriv'd and fitted, Full of convenience, the prospects excellent. Now will your Grace passe downe, and do me but the+ honour To taste a Country banket? What roome's that? I would see all now; what conveyance has it? I see you have kept the best part yet; pray open it.

+ Ha? I misdoubted this: = 'Tis of no receipte sir, For your eyes most unfit = I long to see it, Because I would judge of the whole peece: some excellent+ paintings, Or some rare spoiles you would keep to entertaine me An other time, I know. In troth there is not, Nor any thing worth your sight: below I have Some fountaines, and some ponds. I would see this now. Borosky, thou art a knave; = It containes nothing But rubbish from the other roomes and unnesessaries: Wil't please you see a strange Clocke? This, or nothing: Why should you barre it up thus with defences Above the rest, unlesse it contain'd something More excellent, and curious of keeping: Open't, for I will see't. The keyes are lost sir; Do's your grace thinke if it were fit for you, I could be so unmannerly? I will see it, and either shew it = Good sir = Thanke ye Archas, you shew your love abundantly, Do I use to entreat thus? force it open. That were inhospitable: you are his guest sir, And with his greatest joy, to entertaine ye. Hold thy peace foole; will ye open it? Sir, I cannot. I must not if I could. Goe breake it open. I must withstand that force: be not too rash Gentlemen. Unarme him first, then if he be not obstinate, Preserve his life. I thanke your grace, I take it:

+ And now take you the keyes, goe in and see Sir; There feed your eyes with wonder, and thanke that traytor, That thing that sels his faith for favor. Sir, what moves ye? I have kept mine pure: = Lord Burris there's a Judas, That for a smile will sell ye all: a Gentleman? The Devil 'has more truth, and has maintain'd it; A whores heart more beliefe in't. What's all this Archas? I cannot blame ye to conceale it so, This most inestimable treasure. Yours Sir. Nor doe I wonder now the souldier sleights me. Be not deceiv'd; he has had no favor here Sir, Nor had you knowne this now, but for that pickthank, That lost man in his faith, he has reveal'd it, To suck a little honey from ye has betray'd it. I sweare he smiles upon me, and forsworne too, Thou crackt, uncurrant Lord: I'le tell ye all Sir: Your Sire, before his death, knowing your temper, To be as bounteous as the aire, and open, As flowing as the Sea to all that follow'd ye, Your great mind fit for war and glory, thriftily Like a great hushand, to preserve your actions, Collected all this treasure: to our trusts, To mine I meane, and to that long-tongu'd Lords there, He gave the knowledge, and the charge of all this, Upon his death-bed too: And on the Sacrament He swore us thus, never to let this treasure Part from our secret keepings, till no hope Of subject could relieve ye, all your owne wasted, No help of those that lov'd ye could supply ye, And then some great exploit afoot; my honestie I would have kept till I had made this usefull;

+ I shew'd it, and I stood it to the tempest, And usefull to the end 'twas left: I am cozen'd, And so are you too, if you spend this vainly; This worme that crept into ye has abus'd ye, Abus'd your fathers care, abus'd his faith too: Nor can this masse of money make him man more, A flea'd dog has more soule, an Ape more honestie: All mine ye have amongst it, farwell that, I cannot part with't nobler; my heart's cleare, My conscience smooth as that, no rub upon't, But O thy hell. I seeke no heaven from you Sir. Thy knawing hell Boroskey, it will find thee: Would ye heape coles upon his head has wrong'd ye, 'Has ruin'd your estate? give him this money, Melt it into his mouth. What little Trunck's that, That there o'th' top, that's lockt? You'l find it rich Sir, Richer I think then all. You were not covetous, Nor wont to weave your thoughts with such a coursenes; Pray racke not honestie. Be sure ye see it. Bring out the Trunck. You'l find that treasure too, All I have left me now. What's this, a poore gowne? And this a peece of Seneca? Yes sure Sir, More worth then all your gold, yet ye have enough on't, And of a Mine far purer, and more precious: This sels no friends, nor searches into counsels, And yet all counsell and all friends live here Sir,

+ Betrayes no faith, yet handles all that's trusty; Wilt please ye leave me this. With all my heart Sir. What sayes your Lordship to't? I dare not rob ye. Poore miserable men, you have rob'd your selves both; This gown, and this unvalu'd treasure, your brave Father, Found me a childe at schoole with, in his progresse, Where such a love he tooke to some few answers, Unhappie boyish toyes hit in my head then, That suddenly I made him thus as I was; For here was all the wealth I brought his Highnes: He carried me to Court, there bred me up, Bestow'd his favours on me, taught me Armes first, With those an honest mind; I serv'd him truly, And where he gave me trust, I thinke I fail'd not; Let the world speake: I humbly thanke your Highnes, You have done more, and nobler, eas'd mine age Sir; And to this care, a faire quietus given: Now to my Booke againe. You have your wish Sir, Let some bring off the treasure. Some is his sir. None, none my Lord: A poore unworthy reaper, The harvest is his graces. Thanke ye Archas. But will not you repent Lord? when this is gone, Where will your Lordship = Pray take you no care sir. Do's your Grace like my house? Wondrous well Archas, You have made me richly welcome. I did my best sir, Is there any thing else may please your Grace? Your daughters I had forgot, send them to Court. How's that Sir?

+ I said your daughters; see it done: I'le have 'em Attend my sister, Archas. Thanke your Highnes. And suddenly. Through all the waies I dare, I'le serve your temper, though you try me too far. + I wonder we heare no newes. Heere's your fathers servant, He comes in haste too, now we shall know all sir. How now? I am glad I have met you sir; your father Intreats ye presently make haste unto him. What newes? None of the best Sir, I am asham'd to tell it, Pray aske no more. Did not I tell ye Gentlemen? Did not I prophesie? he is undone then. Not so Sir, but as neare it = There's no help now; The Army's scatter'd all, though discontent, Not to be rallied up in haste to help this. Plague of the devill; have ye watch'd your seasons? We shall watch you ere long. Farewell, there's no cure, We must endure all now: I know what I'le doe. Nay there's no striving, they have a hand upon us, A heavy, and a hard one. Now I have it, We have yet some Gentlemen, some boyes of mettle, (What, are we bob'd thus still, colted, and carted?)

+ And one mad trick wee'l have to shame these vipers; Shall I blesse 'em? Farwell: I have thought my way too. Were never such rare cryes in Christendome, As Mosco shall affoord: Wee'l live by fooling, Now fighting's gone, and they shall find and feele it. + No more: it must be so; do you think I would send ye, Your father, and your friend = Pray Sir be good to us, Alas, we know no Court, nor seeke that knowledge; We are content like harmles things at home, Children of your content, bred up in quiet, Only to know our selves, to seeke a wisedome From that we understand, easie, and honest; To make our actions worthy of your honour, Their ends as innocent as we begot 'em: What shall we looke for Sir, what shall we learne there, That this more private sweetnesse cannot teach us? Vertue was never built upon ambition, Nor the soules beauties bred out of braverie: What a terrible Father would you seeme to us, Now you have moulded us, and wrought our tempers To easie and obedient waies, uncrooked, Where the faire minde can never lose, nor loiter, Now to divert our Natures, now to stem us Roughly against the tide of all this treasure? Would ye have us proud? 'tis sooner bred, then buried; Wickedly proud? for such things dwell at Court Sir. Would you have your children learn to forget their+ father, And when he dies dance on his Monument? Shall we seeke vertue in a Sattin gowne, Imbroider'd vertue? faith in a well-curl'd feather?

+ And set our credits to the tune of green sleeves? This may be done; and if you like, it shall be. You should have sent us thither, when we were younger, Our Maiden-heads at a higher rate, our Innocence Able to make a Mart indeed: we are now too old Sir, Perhaps they'l think too cunning too, and slight us, Besides we are altogether unprovided, Unfurnish'd utterly of the rules should guide us: This Lord comes, licks his hand, and protests to me: Compares my beauty to a thousand fine things; Mountaines, and fountaines, trees, and stars, and goblins; Now have not I the fashion to beleeve him; He offers me the honourable curtesie, To lye with me all night, what a miserie is this? I am bred up so foolishly alas I dare not, And how madly these things will shew there. I send ye not, Like parts infected, to draw more corruption; Like Spiders to grow great, with growing evill: With your owne vertues season'd, and my prayers, The card of goodnes in your minds, that showes ye When ye saile false; the needle touch'd with honour, That through the blackest stormes, still points at happines: Your bodies the tall barks, rib'd round with goodnes; Your heavenly soules the Pilots, thus I send you; Thus I prepare your voyage, sound before ye, And ever as you saile through this worlds vanitie, Discover sholes, rocks, quicksands, cry out to ye Like a good Master, tack about for honour: The Court is vertue's schoole; at least it should be; Nearer the Sun the Mine lies, the mettel's purer: Be it granted, if the Spring be once infected, Those branches that flow from him must run muddy; Say you find some sins there, and those no small ones, And they like lazie fits begin to shake ye: Say they affect your strengths, my happy children, Great things through greatest hazards are atchiev'd still,

+ And then they shine, then goodnes has his glory, His Crowne fast rivited, then time moves under, Where, through the mist of errors, like the Sun, Through thicke and pitchie clouds, he breaks out nobly. I thanke you Sir, you have made me half a souldier, I will to court most willingly, most fondly. And if there be such stirring things amongst 'em, Such travellers into Virgina, As fame reports, if they can win me, take me: I thinke I have a close ward, and a sure one; An honest mind I hope, 'tis petticote-proofe, Chaine-proofe, and jewell-proof: I know 'tis gold proof, A Coach and foure horses cannot draw me from it: As for your hansome faces, and filed tongues, Curl'd Millers heads; I have another ward for them, And yet I'le flatter too, as fast as they doe, And lye, but not as lewdly: Come, be valiant sister, She that dares not stand the push o'th' Court, dares nothing, And yet come off ungrased: Sir, like you, We both affect great dangers now, and the world shall see All glory lies not in mans victorie. Mine owne Honora. I am very fearfull, Would I were stronger built! you would have me honest? Or not at all my Viola. I'le thinke on't, For 'tis no easie promise, and live there; Doe you thinke we shall doe well? Why what should aile us? Certaine they'l tempt us strongly: beside the glory Which women may affect: they are hansome gentlemen, Every part speaks: nor is it one deniall, Nor two, not ten: from every looke we give 'em, They'le frame a hope: even from our prayers, promises. Let 'em feed so, and be fat: there is no feare wench, If thou bee'st fast to they self.

+ I hope I shall be: And your example will work more. Thou shalt not want it. How doe you Sir, can you lend a man an Angell? I heare you let out money. Very well Sir, You are pleasantly dispos'd: I am glad to see it, Can you lend me your patience, and be rul'd by me? Is't come to Patience now? Is't not a vertue? I know not. I ne're found it so. That's because Thy anger ever knowes, and not thy judgement. I know you have been rifl'd. Nothing lesse boy: Lord what opinions these vaine people publish? Rifl'd of what? Study your vertue patience, It may get Mustard to your meat. Why in such haste sir, Sent ye for me? For this end onely, Theodore, To wait upon yout sisters to the Court; I am commanded they live there. Toth' Court sir? Toth' Court I say. And must I wait upon 'em? Yes, 'tis most fit yee should, ye are their brother. Is this the businesse? I had thought your mind sir Had been set forward on some noble action, Something had truely stirr'd ye. Toth' Court with these? Why they are your daughters sir. All this I know sir. The good old woman on a bed he threw. Toth' Court? Thou art not mad?

+ Nor drunke as you are: Drunke with your duty sir: doe you call it duty? A pox o' duty, what can these doe there? What should they doe? Can ye look Babies sisters In the young Gallants eyes, and twirle their Band-strings? Can ye ride out to ayre your selves? pray sir, Be serious with me: doe you speake this truely? Why didst thou never heare of women yet at Court boy? Yes, and good women too, very good women, Excellent honest women: but are you sure sir, That these will prove so? There's the danger brother. God a mercy wench, thou hast a grudging of it. Now be you serious sir, and observe what I say, Doe it, and doe it handsomely: goe with 'em. With all my heart sir; I am in no fault now; If they be thought whores for being in my company, Pray write upon their backs, they are my sisters, And where I shall deliver 'em. Ye are wondrous jocund, But prethee tell me, art thou so lewd a fellow? I never knew thee faile a truth. I am a souldier, And spell you what that meanes. A Souldier? What dost thou make of me? Your Pallat's downe sir. I thanke yee sir. Come, shall we to this matter? You will to Court? If you will please to honour us. Ile honour yee, I warrant: Ile set yee off With such a lustre wenches: Alas poore Viola, Thou art a foole, thou criest for eating white-bread: Be a good huswife of thy teares, and save 'em,

+ Thou wilt have time enough to shed 'em sister. Doe you weep too? nay then Ile foole no more. Come worthy sisters, since it must be so, And since he thinks is fit to trie your vertues, Be you as strong to truth, as I to guard yee, And this old gentleman shall have joy of ye. + Burris take you ten thousand of those Crowns, And those two chaines of Pearle they hold the richest, I give 'em yee. I humbly thanke your grace; And may your great example worke in me That noble charity to men more worthy, And of more wants. You beare a good minde Burris; Take twenty thousand now: Be not so modest, It shall be so, I give 'em: goe, there's my ring for't. Heaven blesse your Highnesse ever. You are honest. They're comming now to Court, as faire as vertue: Two brighter starres ne're rose here. Peace, I have it, And what my Art can doe; the Duke = I am gone, Remember. I am counsell'd to the full sir. [ My prettie mistris, whither lyes your businesse? How kindly I should take this, were it to me now? I must confesse immediately to your grace, At this time =

+ You have no addresse, I doe believe ye, I would yee had. 'Twere too much boldnesse Sir, Upon so little knowledge, lesse deserving. You'll make a perfect Courtier. A very poore one. A very faire one sweet: come hither to me. What killing eyes this wench has? in his glorie Not the bright Sun, when the Sirian starre reignes, Shines halfe so fierie. Why does your grace so view me? Nothing but common handsomenesse dwells here sir, Scarce that: your grace is pleas'd to mocke my meanness. Thou shalt not goe: I doe not lie unto thee, In my eye thou appear'st = Dim not the sight sir, I am too dull an object. Canst thou love me? Canst thou love him will honour thee? I can love, And love as you doe too: but 'twill not shew well: Or if it doe shew here where all light lustres, Tinsell affections, make a glorious glistering, 'Twill halt ith' handsome way. Are yee so cunning? Dost think I love not truely? No, ye cannot, You never travell'd that way yet: pray pardon me, I prate so boldly to you. There's no harme done: But what's your reason, sweet? I would tell your grace, But happily = It shall be pleasing to me. I should love you again, and then you would hate me.

+ With all my service I should follow yee, And through all dangers. This would more provoke me, More make me see thy worthes, more make me meet 'em. You should doe so, if yee did well and truely. But though yee be a Prince, and have power in ye, Power of example too, ye have fail'd and falter'd. Give me example where? You had a Mistris, Oh heaven, so bright, so brave a dame, so lovely, In all her life so true. A Mistris? That serv'd yee with that constancy, that care, That lov'd your will, and woo'd it too. What Mistris? That nurs'd your honour up, held fast your vertue, And when she kist encreas'd, not stole your goodnesse. And I neglected her? Lost her, forsook her, Wantonly flung her off. What was her name? Her name as lovely as her selfe, as noble, And in it all that's excellent. What was it? Her name was Beau-desert: Doe you know her now sir? Beau-desert? I not remember = I know you doe not: Yet she has a plainer name; Lord Archas service; Do you uet remember her? there was a Mistris Fairer then women, far fonder to you sir, Then Mothers to their first-borne joyes: Can you love? Dare you professe that truth to me a stranger, A thing of no regard, no name, no lustre, When your most noble love you have neglected, A beautie all the world would wooe and honour? Would you have me credit this? thinke ye can love me, And hold ye constant, when I have read this storie?

+ Is't possible you should ever favour me, To a slight pleasure prove a friend, and fast too, When, where you were most ty'd, most bound to benefit, Bound by the chaines of honesty and honour, You have broke and boldly too? I am a weak one, Arm'd onely with my feares: I beseech your Grace Tempt me no further. Who taught you this Lesson? Woefull experience Sir: if you seek a faire one, Worthy your love, if yet you have that perfect, Two daughters of his ruin'd vertue now Arive at Court, excellent faire indeed sir, But this will be the plague on't, they'r excellent honest. I love thy face. Upon my life yee cannot. I doe not love it my selfe Sir, 'tis a lewd one, So truely ill Art cannot mend it: 'sod if t'were handsome, At least if I thought so, you shoulde heare me talke sir In a new straine; and though ye are a Prince, Make ye Petition to me too, and wait my answers; Yet o' my conscience I should pitty yee, After some ten yeares siege. Prethee doe now. What would ye doe? Why I would lye with yee. I doe not think yee would. Introth I would wench. Here, take this Jewell. Out upon't, that's scurvie. Nay, if we doe, sure wee'll doe for good fellowship, For pure love, or nothing: thus you shall be sure sir You shall not pay too deare for't. Sure I cannot. By'r Lady but yee may: when ye have found me able, To doe your work well, ye may pay my wages.

+ Why does your Grace start back? I ha' seen that shakes me: Chills all my blood: O where is faith or goodnesse? Alinda thou art false, false, false thou faire one, Wickedly false; and (woe is me) I see it. For ever false. I am glad't has taken thus right. Ile goe aske my Lady, sir. What? Whether I Shall lye with ye, or no: If I find her willing = For look ye sir, I have sworn, while I am in her service = ('Twas a rash oath I must confesse.) Thou mockst me. Why, would yee lye with me, if I were willing? Would you abuse my weaknesse? I would peece it, And make it stronger. I humbly thank your highnesse, When you piece me, you must piece me to my Coffin: When you have got my Maiden-head, I take it, 'Tis not an inch of an Apes taile will restore it; I love ye, and I honour yee, but this way Ile neither love nor serve yee: heaven change your minde sir. And thine too: for it must be chang'd, it shall be. + They are goodly gentlewomen. They are, Wondrous sweet women both. Does your Lordship like 'em? They are my sisters sir; good lusty Lasses, They'll doe their labour well, I warrant yee You'll finde no bed-straw here sir.

+ Thanke yee brother. This is not so strongly built: but she is good mettle, Of a good stirring straine too: she goes tith sir. Here they be gentlemen must make ye merry, The toyes you wot of: doe you like their complexions? They be no Moors: what think ye of this hand gentlemen? Here's a white Altar for your sacrifice: A thousand kisses here. Nay, keep off yet gentlemen, Let's start first, and have fair play: what would ye give now To turne the globe up, and finde the rich Moluccas? To passe the straights? here (doe ye itch) by Saint Nicolas, Here's that will make ye scratch and claw, Claw my fine Gentlemen, move ye in divers sorts: Pray ye let me request yee, to forget To say your prayers, whilst these are Courtiers; Or if yee needs will thinke of heaven, let it be no higher Then their eyes? How will ye have 'em bestow'd sir? Even how your Lordship please, so you doe not+ bake 'em. Bake 'em? They are too high a meat that way, they run to gelly. But if you'l have 'em for your own dyet, take my counsel, Stew 'em between two feather-beds. Please you Colonell To let 'em wait upon the Princesse? Yes sir, And thanke your honour too: but then happily, These noble Gentlemen shall have no accesse to 'em, And to have 'em buy new cloathes, studdy new faces, And keep a stinking stirre with themselves for nothing, 'Twill not be well y'faith: they have kept their bodies, And bin at charge for Bathes: do you see that shirt there? Way but the morall meaning, 'twill be grievous: Alas, I brought 'em to delight these gentlemen,

+ I weight their wants by mine: I brought 'em wholsome, Wholsome, and young my Lord, and two such blessings They will not light upon againe in ten yeare. 'Tis fit they wait upon her. They are fit for any thing. They'll wait upon a man, they are not bashfull, Carrie his cloak, or untie his points, or any thing, Drink drunk, and take Tobacco; the familiarst fooles = This wench will leap over stools too, and sound a Trumpet, Wrastle, and pitch the Bar; they are finely brought up. Ladies, Ye are bound to your brother, and have much cause to thank him: Ile ease ye of this charge, and to the Princesse, So please you, Ile attend 'em. Thank your Lordship: If there be e're a private corner as yee goe Sir, A foolish lobbie out oth' way, make danger, Trie what they are, trie. Ye are a merrie gentleman. I would faine be your honours kinseman. Ye are to curst sir. Farewel wenches, keep close your ports, y' are washt else. Brother bestow your fears where they are needfull. Honor thy name is, and I hope thy nature. Goe after, Gentlemen, goe, get a snatch if you can, Yond' old Erra Pater will never please 'em. Alas I brought 'em for you, but see the luck on't, I sweare I meant as honestlie toward ye = Nay doe not crie good gentlemen: a little counsell Will doe no harme: they'll walke abroad ith' evenings, Ye may surprize 'em easily, they weare no Pistols. Set downe your mindes in Metre, flowing Metre, And get some good old linnen woman to deliver it, That has the trick on't: you cannot faile: Farewell gentlemen. You have frighted off these flesh-flies.

+ Flesh-flies indeed my Lord. And it must be verie stinking flesh they will not seize on. Your Lordship bid me bring this Casket. Yes. Good Colonell Commend me to your worthy father, and as a pledge He ever holds my love, and service to him, Deliver him this poore, but hearty token, And where I may be his = Ye are too noble; A wonder here my Lord, that dare be honest, When all men hold it vitious: I shall deliver it, And with it your most noble love. Your servant. Were there but two more such at Court, 'twere Sainted, This wil buy brawn this Christmas yet, and Muscadine. + Broom, Broom, the bonnie Broom, Come buy my Birchen Broom, Ith' warres we have no more room, Buy all my bonnie Broom. For a kisse take two; If those will not doe, For a little, little pleasure, Take all my whole treasure; If all these will not do't, Take the Broom-man to boot. Broom, Broom, the bonnie Broome.

+ The wars are done and gone, And Souldiers now neglected, Pedlers are, Come maidens, come along, For I can shew you handsome, handsome ware. Powders for the head, And drinks for your bed, To make yee blith and bonney. As well in the night we souldiers can fight, And please a young wench as any. I have fine Potato's, Ripe Potato's. Will ye buy any Honesty, come away, I sell it openly by day, I bring no forced light, nor no Candle To cozen yee; come buy and handle: This will shew the great man good, The Trades-man where he sweares and lyes, Each Lady of a noble bloud, The Citie dame to rule her eyes: Ye are rich men now: come buy, and then Ile make yee richer, honest-men. Have ye any crackt maiden-heads, to new leach or mend? Have ye any old maiden-heads to sell or to change? Bring 'em to me, with a little pretty gin Ile clout 'em, Ile mend 'em, Ile knock in a pin, Shall make 'em as good maids agen, As ever they have bin.

+ What means all this, why do y' sel Brooms Ancient? Is it in wantonnesse, or what? The onely reason is, To sweep your Lordships conscience: here's one for the nonce. Gape sir, you have swallowed many a goodlier matter = The onely casting for a crazie conscience. Will your Lordship buy any honestie? 'twill be worth+ your money. How is this? Honestie my Lord, 'tis here in a quill. Take heed you open it not, for 'tis so subtle, The least puffe of wind will blow it out oth' kingdome. Will your Lordship to taste a fine Potato? 'Twill advance your wither'd state. Fill your honour full of most noble itches, And make Jack dance in your Lordships breeches. If your daughters on their beds, Have bow'd, or crackt their maiden-heads; If in a Coach with too much tumbling, They chance to crie, fie, fo, what fumbling; If her foot slip, and downe fall shee, And break her leg above the knee, The one and thirtieth of Februarie let this be tane, And they shall be arrant maids againe. Ye are brave souldiers; keep your wantonnesse, A winter will come on to shake this wilfulnesse. Disport your selves, and when you want your money = Broom, Broom, &c. + You must not be so fearefull, little one, Nor Lady you so sad, you will ne're make Courtiers

+ With these dull sullen thoughts; this place is pleasure, Preserv'd to that use, so inhabited; And those that live here, live delightfull, joyfull: These are the Gardens of Adonis, Ladies, Where all sweets to their free and noble uses, Grow ever young and courted. Blesse me heaven, Can things of her yeares arrive at these rudiments? = By your leave fair gentlewoman, how long have you bin here? Faith much about a week. You have studied hard, And by my faith arriv'd at a great knowledge. Were not you bashfull at first? #I, #I, for an houre or two: But when I saw people laugh'd at me for it, And thought it a dull breeding = You are govern'd here then Much after the mens opinions. Ever Ladie. And what they think is honourable = Most precisely We follow with all faith. A goodly Catechisme. But bashfull for an houre or two? Faith to say true, I do not think I was so long: for look yee, 'Tis to no end here, put on what shape ye will, And soure your selfe with ne're so much austeritie, You shall be courted in the same, and won too, 'Tis but some two houres more; and so much time lost, Which we hold pretious here: In so much time now As I have told you this, you may lose a servant, Your age, nor all your Art can e're recover. Catch me occasion as she comes, hold fast there, Till what you doe affect is ripen'd to yee. Has the Duke seen yee yet? What if he have not?

+ You doe your beauties too much wrong, appearing So full of sweetnesse, newnesse; set so richly, As if a Councell beyond nature fram'd yee. If we were thus? say heaven had given these blessings, Must we turne these to sin-oblations? How foolishly this Countrey way shewes in ye? How full of flegme? doe you come here to pray Ladies? You had best crie, stand away, let me alone gentlemen, Ile tell my father else. This woman's naught sure, A verie naughtie woman. Come, say on friend, Ile be instructed by ye. You'll thank me for't. Either I or the devil shal: = The Duke you were speaking of. 'Tis well remembred: yes, let him first see you, Appeare not openly till he has view'd yee. Hee's a very noble Prince they say. O wondrous gracious; And as you may deliver your selfe at the first viewing, For look ye, you must beare your selfe; yet take heed It be so season'd with a sweet humilitie, And grac'd with such a bountie in your beautie = But I hope he will offer me no ill? No, no: 'Tis like he will kisse ye, and play with ye. Plaie with me, how? Why, good Lord, that you are such a foole now. No harme assure your selfe. Will he play with me too? Look babies in your eyes, my prettie sweet one: Ther's a fine sport: doe you know your lodgings yet? I heare of none. I doe then, they are handsome, Convenient for accesse.

+ Accesse? Yes little one, For visitation of those friends and servants, Your beauties shall make choice of: friends and visits: Doe not you know those uses? Alas poor novice; There's a close Cowch or two, handsomely plac'd too. What are those I pray you? Who would be troubled With such raw things? they are to lie upon, And your love by ye; and discourse, and toy in. Alas I have no love. You must by any meanes: You'll have a hundred, feare not. Honestie keep me: What shall I doe with all those? You'll finde uses: Ye are ignorant yet, let time work; you must learne too, To lie handsomly in your bed a mornings, neatly drest In a most curious Wastcoat, to set ye off well, Play with your Bracelets, sing: you must learn to rhime too, And riddle neatlie; studie the hardest language, And 'tis no matter whether it be sense, or no, So it goe seemlie off. Be sure yee profit In kissing, kissing sweetly: there lies a maine point, A key that opens to all practick pleasure; Ile helpe yee to a friend of mine shal teach ye, And suddenlie: your Countrey way is fulsome. Have ye schooles for all these mysteries? O yes, And severall houres prefix'd to studie in: Ye may have Kalanders to know the good houre, And when to take a jewell: for the ill too, When to refuse, with observations on 'em; Under what Signe 'tis best meeting in an Arbor, And in what Bower, and houre it works; a thousand, When in a Coach, when in a private lodging, With all their vertues.

+ Have ye studied these? How beastly they become your youth? how bawdily? A woman of your tendernesse, a teacher, Teacher of these lewd Arts? of your full beauty? A man made up in lust would loath this in yee: The rankest Leacher, hate such impudence. They say the devill can assume heavens brightnesse, And so appeare to tempt us: sure thou art no woman. I joy to finde ye thus. Thou hast no tendernesse, No reluctation in thy heart: 'tis mischiefe. All's one for that; read these and then be satisfi'd, A few more private rules I have gather'd for ye, Read 'em, and well observe 'em: so I leave ye. A wondrous wicked woman: shame go with thee. What new Pandoras box is this? Ile see it, Though presently I teare it. Read thine Viola, 'Tis in our owne wills to believe and follow. Worthy Honora, as you have begun In vertues spotlesse schoole, so forward run: Pursue that noblenesse, and chaste desire You ever had, burne in that holy fire; And a white Martyr to faire memorie Give up your name, unsoil'd of infamy. How's this? Read yours out sister: this amazes me. Feare not thou yet unblasted Violet, Nor let my wanton words a doubt beget, Live in that peace and sweetnesse of thy bud, Remember whose thou art, and grow still good. Remember what thou art, and stand a storie Fit for thy noble Sex, and thine owne glorie. I know not what to thinke. Sure a good woman, An excellent woman, sister. It confounds me; Let 'em use all their arts, if these be their ends,

+ The Court I say breeds the best foes and friends. Come, let's be honest wench, and doe our best service. A most excellent woman, I will love her. + Madam, the Duke has sent for the two Ladies. I prethee go: I know thy thoughts are with him. Go, go Alinda, do not mock me more. I have found thy heart wench, doe not wrong thy Mistris, Thy too much loving Mistris: doe not abuse her. By your own faire hands I understand ye not. By thy owne faire eyes I understand thee too much, Too farre, and built a faith there thou hast ruind. Goe, and enjoy thy wish, thy youth, thy pleasure, Enjoy the greatnesse no doubt he has promised, Enjoy the service of all eyes that see thee, The glory thou hast aim'd at, and the triumph: Onely this last love I aske, forget thy Mistris. Oh, who has wrong'd me? who has ruin'd me? Poore wretched Girle, what poyson is flung on thee? Excellent vertue, from whence flowes this anger? Go, ask my Brother, ask the faith thou gav'st me, Aske all my favours to thee, aske my love, Last, thy forgetfulnesse of good: then flye me, For we must part Alinda. You are wearie of me; I must confesse, I was never worth your service, Your bounteous favours lesse; but that my duty, My ready will, and all I had to serve ye = O heaven thou know'st my honestie. No more: Take heed, heaven has a justice: take this ring with yee, This doting spell you gave mee: too well Alinda, Thou knew'st the vertue in't; too well I feele it:

+ Nay keep that too, it may sometimes remember ye, When you are willing to forget, who gave it, And to what vertuous end. Must I goe from yee? Of all the sorrowes sorrow has = Must I part with yee? Part with my noble Mistris? Or I with thee wench. And part stain'd with opinion? Farewell Lady, Happy and blessed Lady, goodnesse keep yee: Thus your poore servant full of griefe turnes from yee, For ever full of griefe, for ever from yee. I have no being now, no friends, no Countrey, I wander heaven knowes whither, heaven knows how. No life, now you are lost: onely mine innocence, That little left me of my selfe, goes with me, That's all my bread and comfort. I confesse Madam, Truely confesse, the Duke has often courted me. And powr'd his soule into thee, won thee. Doe you think so? Well, time that told this tale, will tell my truth too, And say ye had a faithfull, honest servant: The business of my life is now to pray for ye, Pray for your vertuous loves; Pray for your children, When heaven shall make ye happy. How she wounds me? Either I am undone, or she must go: = take these with yee, Some toyes may doe ye service; and this money; And when ye want, I love ye not so poorely, Not yet Alinda, that I would see ye perish. Prethee be good, and let me leare: look on me, I love those eyes yet dearely; I have kiss'd thee, And now Ile doe't againe: farewell Alinda, I am too full to speak more, and too wretched. You have my faith, and all the world my fortune. +

+ I would faine heare what becomes of these two Wenches: And if I can, I will doe 'em good. Doe you heare my honest friend? He knowes no such name: What a world of businesse, Which by interpretation are meere nothings, These things have here? 'Masse now I think on't better, I wish he be not sent for one of them To some of these by-lodgings: me thought I saw A kinde of reference in his face to Bawderie. He has her, but 'tis none of them: hold fast theefe: An excellent touzing knave. Mistris you are To suffer your penance some half hour hence now. How farre a fine Court Custard with Plumbs in't Will prevaile with one of these waiting gentlewomen, They are taken with these soluble things exceedingly; This is some yeoman oth' bottles now that has sent for hir, That she calls father: now woe to this Ale incence. By your leave sir. Well sir: what's your pleasure with me? You do not know the way to the maids lodgings? Yes indeed doe I sir. But you will not tell me? No indeed will not I, because you doubt it. These are fine gim-cracks: hey, here comes another, A Flaggon full of wine in's hand, I take it. Well met my friend, is that wine?

+ Yes indeed is it. Faith Ile drink on't then. Ye may, because ye have sworne sir. 'Tis very good, Ile drinke a great deale now sir. I cannot helpe it sir. Ile drinke more yet. 'Tis in your owne hands. There's your pot, I thank ye. Pray let me drinke againe. Faith but ye shall not. Now have I sworn I take it. Fare ye well sir. This is the fin'st place to live in I e're entered. Here comes a gentlewoman, and alone; Ile to her. Madam, My Lord my Master = Who's your Lord sir? The Lord Boroskie, Lady. Pray excuse me: Here's something for your paines: within this houre sir, One of the choise young Ladies shall attend him: Pray let it be in that Chamber juts out to the water; 'Tis private and convenient: doe my humble service To my honourable good Lord, I beseech ye sir; If it please you to visit a poore Lady = You carrie the 'haviour of a noble Gentleman. I shall be bold. 'Tis a good aptnesse in ye. I lye here in the Wood-yard, the blew lodgings sir; They call me merily the Lady of the = Sir; A little I know what belongs to a gentleman, And if it please you take the paines = Deare Lady = Take the paines? Why a horse would not take the pains that thou requir'st now To cleave, old crab-tree! one of the choise young Ladies: I would I had let this Bawd goe, she has frighted me; I am cruelly afraid of one of my Tribe now; But if they will doe, the devill cannot stop 'em.

+ Why should he have a young Lady? are women now Oth' nature of Bottles, to be stopt with Corks? O the thousand little furies that flye here now? How now Captaine? I come to seek you out sir, And all the Town I have travell'd. What's the newes man? That that concernes us all, and very neerely: The Duke this night holds a great feast at Court, To which he bids for guest all his old Counsellors, And all his favourites: your Father's sent for. Why he is neither in councell, nor in favour. That's it: have an eye now, or never, and a quick one, An eye that must not wink from good intelligence. I heard a Bird sing, they mean him no good office. Art sure he sups here? Sure as 'tis day. 'Tis like then: How now, where hast thou been Ancient? Measuring the City: I have left my Brooms at gate here; By this time the Porter has stole 'em to sweep out rascals. Brooms? I have been crying Brooms all the towne over, And such a Mart I have made, there's no trade neare it. O the handsome wenches, how they twitter'd, When they but saw me shake my ware, and sing too; Come hither Master Broom-man I beseech ye: Good Master Broom-man hither cries another. Thou art a mad fellow. They are all as mad as I: they all have trades now, And roare about the streets like Bull-beggers. What company Of souldiers are they? By this meanes I have gather'd

+ Above a thousand tall and hardy souldiers, If need be Colonell. That need's come Ancient, And 'twas discreetly done: goe, draw 'em presently, But without suspition: this night we shall need 'em; Let 'em be neare the Court, let Putskie guide 'em; And wait me for occasion: here Ile stay still. If it fall out we are ready; if not we are scatter'd: Ile wait ye at an inch. Doe, farewell. + Are the Souldiers still so mutinous? More then ever, No Law nor Justice frights 'em: all the Towne over They play new pranks and gambols: no mans person, Of what degree soever, free from abuses: And durst they doe this, (let your grace consider) These monstrous, most offensive things, these villanies, If not set on, and fed? if not by one They honour more then you? and more aw'd by him? Happily their owne wants = I offer to supply 'em, And every houre make tender of their moneyes: They scorne it, laugh at me that offer it: I feare the next device will be my life sir; And willingly Ile give it, so they stay there. Doe you think Lord Archas privie? More then thought, I know it Sir, I know they durst not doe These violent rude things, abuse the State thus, But that they have a hope by his ambitions = No more: he's sent for? Yes, and will be here sure. Let me talke further with you anon.

+ Ile wait sir. Did you speak to the Ladies? They'll attend your grace presently. How doe you like 'em? My eyes are too dull judges. They wait here sir. Be you gone then: Come in Ladies. Welcome toth' court sweet beauties; now the court shines, When such true beames of beauty strike amongst us: Welcome, welcome, even as your owne joyes welcome. How doe you like the Court? how seems it to you? Is't not a place created for all sweetnesse? Why were you made such strangers to this happinesse? Barr'd the delights this holds? the richest jewels Set ne're well, if then not worne to wonder, By judging eyes not set off, lose their lustre: Your Countrey shades are faint; blasters of beauty; The manners like the place, obscure and heavie; The Rose buds of your beauties turne to cankers, Eaten with inward thoughts: whilst there ye wander. Here Ladies, here, you were not made for Cloisters, Here is the Sphere you move in: here shine nobly, And by your powerfull influence command all: What a sweet modestite dwells round about 'em And like a nipping morne pulls in their blossoms? Your grace speaks cunningly, you doe not this, I hope sir, to betray us; we are poore triumphs; Nor can our losse of honour adde to you sir: Great men, and great thoughts, seek things great and worthy, Subjects to make 'em live, and not to lose 'em; Conquests so nobly won, can never perish; We are two simple maids, untutor'd here sir; Two honest maids, is that a sin at Court sir? Our breeding is obedience, but to good things,

+ To vertuous and to faire: what wou'd you win on us? Why doe I aske that question, when I have found yee? Your Preamble has pow'rd your heart out to us; You would dishonour us; which in your translation Here at the Court reads thus, your grace would love us, Most dearely love us: sticke us up for mistresses: Most certaine, there are thousands of our Sex sir That would be glad of this, and handsome women, And crowd into his favour, faire young women, Excellent beauties sir: when ye have enjoyd 'em, And suckt those sweets they have, what Saints are these then? What worship have they won? what name you ghesse sir, What storie added to their time, a sweet one? A brave spirited wench. Ile tell your grace, And tell yee true: ye are deceiv'd in us two, Extreamly cozend sir: And yet in my eye You are the handsomst man I ever lookt on, The goodliest gentleman; take that hope with yee; And were I fit to be your wife (so much I honour yee) Trust me I would scratch for ye but I would have yee. I would wooe you then. She amazes me: But how am I deceiv'd? O we are too honest, Beleive it sir, too honest, far too honest, The way that you propound too ignorant, And there is no medling with us; for we are fooles too, Obstinate, peevish fooles: if I would be #ill, And had a wantons itch, to kick my heeles up, I would not leap into th' Sun, and doe't there, That all the world might see me: an obscure shade sir, Darke as the deed, there is no trusting light with it, Nor that that's lighter far, vain-glorious greatnesse. You will love me as your friend?

+ I will honour yee, As your poore humble handmaid serve, and pray for ye. What sayes my little one; you are not so obstinate? Lord how she blushes: here are truely faire soules: Come you will be my love? Good sir be good to me, Indeed Ile doe the best I can to please yee; I doe beseech your grace: Alas I feare ye. What shouldst thou feare? Fie sir, this is not noble. Why doe I stand entreating, where my power = You have no power, at least you ought to have none In bad and beastly things: arm'd thus, Ile dye here, Before she suffer wrong. Another Archas? His childe sir, and his spirit. Ile deale with you then, For here's the honour to be won: sit down sweet, Prethee Honora sit. Now ye intreat I will sir. I doe, and will deserve it. That's too much kindnesse. Prethee look on me. Yes: I love to see yee, And could look on an age thus, and admire ye: Whilst ye are good and temperate I dare touch ye, Kisse your white hand. Why not my lips? I dare sir. I do not thinke ye dare. I am no coward. Doe you beleive me now? or now? or now sir? You make me blush: but sure I mean no #ill sir: It had been fitter you had kiss'd me. That Ile doe too. What hast thou wrought into me? I hope all goodnesse:

+ Whilst ye are thus, thus honest, I dare doe any thing, Thus hang about your neck, and thus doat on yee; Blesse those faire lights: hell take me if I durst not = But good Sir pardon me. Sister come hither, Come hither, fear not wench: come hither, blush not, Come kisse the Prince, the vertuous Prince, the good Prince: Certaine he is excellent honest. Thou wilt make me = Sit downe, and hug him softly. Fie Honora, Wanton Honora; is this the modesty, The noble chastity your on-set shew'd me, At first charge beaten back? Away. Thank ye: Upon my knees I pray, heaven too may thank ye; Ye have deceiv'd me cunningly, yet nobly Ye have cozen'd me: In all your hopefull life yet, A Scene of greater honour, you ne're acted: I knew Fame was a lyar, too long, and loud tongu'd, And now I have found it: O my vertuous Master. My vertuous Master too. Now you are thus, What shall become of me let Fortune cast for't. Ile be that fortune, if I live Honora, Thou hast done a cure upon me, counsell could not. Here take your ring sir, and whom ye mean to ruine, Give it to her next; I have paid for't dearely. A Ring to her? Why frownes my faire Alinda? I have forgot both these againe. Stand still sir, Ye have that violent killing fire upon ye, Consumes all honour, credit, faith. How's this?

+ My Royall Mistris favour towards me, Woe-worth ye sir, ye have poyson'd, blasted. I sweet? You have taken that unmanly liberty, Which in a worse man, is vain-glorious feigning, And kild my truth. Upon my life 'tis false wench. Ladies, take heed, ye have a cunning gamster, A handsome, and a high; come stoar'd with Antidotes, He has infections else will fire your blouds. Prethee Alinda heare me. Words steept in honey, That will so melt into your mindes, buy Chastity, A thousand wayes, a thousand knots to tie ye; And when he has bound ye his, a thousand ruines. A poore lost woman ye have made me. Ile maintaine thee, And nobly too. That Gin's too weak to take me: Take heed, take heed young Ladies: still take heed, Take heed of promises, take heed of gifts, Of forces feigned sorrowes, sighes, take heed. By all that's mine, Alinda = Sweare by your mischiefes: O whither shall I goe? Goe back againe, Ile force her take thee, love thee. Fare ye well Sir, I will not curse ye; onely this dwell with ye, When ever you love, a false beliefe light on ye. Wee'll take our leaves too sir. Part all the world now, Since she is gone. You are crooked yet, deare Master, And still I feare = I am vext, and some shall finde it. +

+ 'Tis strange to me to see the Court, and welcome: O royall place, how have I lov'd and serv'd thee? Who lies on this side, know'st thou? The Lord Burris. Thou hast nam'd a gentleman I stand much bound to. I think he sent the Casket sir? The same Sir. An honest minded man, a noble Courtier: The Duke made perfect choice when he took him. Goe you home, I shall hit the way without a guide now. You may want something sir. Onely my horses, Which after Supper let the Groom wait with: Ile have no more attendance here. Your will sir. You are well met here sir. How now boy, how do'st thou? I should aske you that question: how doe you sir? How doe you feele your selfe? Why well, and lustie. What doe you here then? Why I am sent for To Supper with the Duke. Have you no meat at home? Or doe you long to feed as hunted Deere doe, In doubt and feare? I have an excellent stomach, And can I use it better then among my friends boy? How doe the wenches? They doe well enough sir, They know the worst by this time: pray be rul'd sir, Goe home againe, and if ye have a Supper

+ Eate it in quiet there: this is no place for ye, Especially at this time, take my word for't. May be they'll drink hard; I could have drunk my share+ Boy. Though I am old, I will not out. I hope you will. Hark in your eare: the Court's too quick of hearing. Not mean me wel? Thou art abus'd and cozen'd. Away, away. To that end sir I tell ye. Away, if ye love your selfe. Who dare doe these things, That ever heard of honesty? Old Gentleman, Take a fooles counsell. 'Tis a fooles indeed; A very fooles: thou hast more of these flams in thee, These musty doubts: Is't fit the Duke send for me, And honour me to eate within his presence, And I, like a tal fellow, play at bo-peep With his pleasure? Take heed of bo-peep with your pate, your pate sir, I speak plain language now. If 'twere not here, Where reverence bids me hold, I would so swinge thee, Thou rude, unmanner'd knave; take from his bounty, His honour that he gives me, to beget Sawcy and sullen feares? You are not mad sure: By this faire light, I speak but what is whisper'd, And whisper'd for a truth. A dog: drunken people, That in their Pot see visions, and turne states, Mad-men and children: Prethee doe not follow me; I tell thee I am angrie: Doe not follow me.

+ I am as angrie as you for your heart. #I and as wilfull too: goe, like a Wood-cock, And thrust your neck ith' noose. Ile kill thee, and thou speakst but three words more. Doe not follow me. A strange old foolish fellow: I shall heare yet, And if I doe not my part hisse at me. + Beleeve me fellow here will be lusty drinking. Many a washt pate in wine I warrant thee. I am glad the old Generall's come: upon my conscience That joy will make half the Court drunk. Hark the Trumpets, They are comming on; away. We'll have a rowse too., Come seat your selves: Lord Archas sit you there. 'Tis farre above my worth. Ile have it so: = Are all things ready? All the Guards are set, The Court gates shut. Then doe as I prescrib'd yee. Be sure no further. I shall well observe ye. Come bring some wine: here's to my sister gentlemen; A health, and mirth to all. Pray fill it full sir. 'Tis a high health to vertue: here Lord Burris, A maiden health: you are most fit to pledge it, You have a maiden soule, and much I honour it. Passion o' me, ye are sad man.

+ How now Burris. Goe to, no more of this. Take the rowse freely, 'Twill warme your bloud, and make ye fit for jollity. Your graces pardon: when we get a cup sir, We old men prate a pace. Mirth makes a banquet; As you love me no more. I thank your grace. Give me it; Lord Boroskie = I have ill braines sir. Damnable ill, I know it. But Ile pledge sir This vertuous health. The more unfit for thy mouth. Come, bring out Robes, and let my guests look nobly, Fit for my love, and presence: begin downward. Off with your cloaks, take new. Your grace deales truely Like a munificent Prince, with your poor subjects, Who would not fight for you? what cold dull coward Durst seek to save his life when you would aske it? Begin a new health in your new adornments, The Dukes, the Royall Dukes: ha, what have I got Sir? ha! the robe of death! You have deserv'd it. The livorie of the grave? do you start all from me? Doe I smell of earth already? Sir look on me, And like a man; is this your entertainment? Doe you bid your worthiest guests to bloudy Banquets? A Guard upon me too? this is too foule play Boy to thy good, thine honour; thou wretched Ruler, Thou sonne of fooles and flatterers, heire of hypocrites, Am I serv'd in a hearse that sav'd ye all?

+ Are ye men or devills? doe ye gape upon me? Wider, and swallow all my services, Entombe them first, my faith next, then my integritie, And let these struggle with your mangy mindes, Your sear'd, and seal'd up consciences, till ye burst. These words are death. No, those deeds that want rewards, sirrah, Those Battells I have fought, those horrid dangers, Leaner then death, and wilder then destruction, I have march'd upon, those honour'd wounds, times story, The bloud I have lost, the youth, the sorrowes suffer'd, These are my death, these that can ne're be recompenced, These that ye sit a brooding on like Toads, Sucking from my deserts the sweets and favours, And render me no pay againe but poisons. The proud vaine souldier thou hast set = Thou lyest. Now by my little time of life lyest basely, Malitiously and loudly: how I scorne thee! If I had sweld the souldier, or intended An act in person, leaning to dishonour, As ye would faine have forc'd me, witnesse heaven, Where clearest understanding of all truth is, (For these are spightful men, and know no piety) When Olin came, grim Olin, when his marches, His last Incursions made the City sweat, And drove before him, as a storme drives Haile, Such showrs of frosted fears, shook all your heart-strings; Then when the Volga trembled at his terrour, And hid his seven curl'd heads, afraid of bruising By his arm'd horses hoofes; had I been false then, Or blowne a treacherous fire into the souldier, Had but one sparke of villanie liv'd within me, Ye' ad had some shadow for this black about me. Where was your souldiership? why went not you out? And all your right honourable valour with ye? Why met ye not the Tartar, and defi'd him?

+ Drew your dead-doing sword, and buckl'd with him? Shot through his Squadrons like a fierie Meteor? And as we see a dreadfull clap of thunder Rend the stiffe hearted Oakes, and tosse their roots up, Why did not you so charge him? you were sick then, You that dare taint my credit slipt to bed then, Stewing and fainting with the feares ye had, A whorson shaking fit opprest your Lordship: Blush Coward knave, and all the world hisse at thee. Exceed not my command. I shall observe it. Are you gone too? Come weep not honest Burris, Good loving Lord, no more teares: 'Tis not his malice, This fellowes malice, nor the Dukes displeasure, By bold bad men, crowded into his nature, Can startle me: fortune ne're raz'd this Fort yet: I am the same, the same man, living, dying; The same mind to 'em both, I poize thus equall; Onely the jugling way that toll'd me to it, The Judas way, to kisse me, bid me welcome, And cut my throat, a little sticks upon me. Farewell, commend me to his grace, and tell him, The world is full of servants, he may have many: And some I wish him honest: hee's undone else: But such another doating Archas never, So try'd and touch'd a faith: farewell for ever. Be strong my Lord: you must not go thus lightly. Now, what's to doe? what sayes the Law unto me? Give me my great offence that speaks me guilty. Laying aside a thousand petty matters, As scornes, and insolencies both from your selfe and followers, Which you put first fire to, and these are deadly, I come to one maine cause, which though it carries A strangenesse in the circumstance, it carries death too, Not to be pardon'd neither: ye have done a sacriledge.

+ High heaven defend me man: how, how Borosky? Ye have tooke from the Temple those vow'd Arms, The holy Ornament you hung up there, No absolution of your vow, no order From holy Church to give 'em backe unto you After they were purified from war, and rested From bloud, made cleane by ceremony: from the Altar You snatch'd 'em up againe, againe ye wore 'em, Againe you staind 'em, staind your vow, the Church too, And rob'd it of that right was none of yours sir, For which the Law requires your head, ye know it. Those Armes I fought in last? The same. God a mercy, Thou hast hunted out a notable cause to kill me: A subtle one: I dye, for saving all you; Good sir remember if you can, the necessitie, The suddainesse of time, the State all stood in; I was entreated to, kneel'd to, and prai'd to, The Duke himselfe, the Princesse, all the Nobles, The cries of Infants, bedrid fathers, virgins; Prethee find out a better cause, a hansomer, This will undo thee too: people will spit at thee, The devill himself would be asham'd of this cause; Because my hast made me forget the ceremony, The present danger every where, must my life satisfie? It must, and shall. O base ungratefull people, Have ye no other Sword to cut my throat with But mine own noblenesse? I confesse, I tooke 'em, The vow not yet absolv'd, I hung 'em up with: Wore 'em, fought in 'em, gilded 'em againe In the fierce Tartars blouds; for you I tooke 'em, For your peculiar safety, Lord, for all, I wore 'em for my Countries health, that gron'd then: Tooke from the Temple, to preserve the Temple;

+ That holy place, and all the sacred monuments, The reverent shrines of Saints, ador'd and honour'd, Had been consum'd to ashes, their owne sacrifice; Had I been slacke, or staid that absolution, No Priest had liv'd to give it; my owne honour, Cure of my Country murder me? No, no sir, I shall force that from ye, will make this cause light too, Away with him: I shall plucke downe that heart sir. Breake it thou maiest; but if it bend, for pitty, Doggs, and Kites eate it: come I am honours Martyr. + Exceed my warrant? You know he loves him not. He dares as well meet death, as do it, eat wildfire, Through a few fears I meane to trye his goodnesse, That I may find him fit to weare here Burris; I know Boroskie hates him, to death hates him, I know he's a Serpent too, a swolne one, But I have puld his sting out; what noise is that? down with 'em, down with 'em, down with the gates. Stand, stand, stand. Fire the Pallace before ye. Upon my life the Souldier, sir, the Souldier, A miserable time is come. Oh save him, Upon my knees, my hearts knees, save Lord Archas, We are undone else. Dares he touch his body? He racks him fearefully, most fearefully. Away Burris,

+ Take men, and take him from him; clap him up, And if I live, I'le find a strange death for him: Are the Souldiers broke in? By this time sure they are sir, They beate the gates extreamely, beate the people. Get me a guard about me; make sure the lodgings And speake the Souldiers faire. Pray heaven that take sir. Give us the Generall, wee'l fire the Court else, Render him safe and well. Do not fire the Cellar, There's excellent wine in't Captain, and though it be cold+ weather, I do not love it mul'd: bring out the Generall, Wee'll light ye such a bonefire else; where are ye? Speak, or wee'l tosse your Turrets, peep out of your hives, Wee'l smoake ye else: is not that a nose there? Put out that nose againe, and if thou dar'st But blow it before us: now he creepes out on's burrough. Give us the Generall. Yes, Gentlemen; Or any thing ye can desire. You musk-cat, Cordevan-skin, we will not take your answer. Where is the Duke? speak suddenly, and send him+ hether. Or wee'l so frie your buttocks. Good sweet Gentlemen = We are neither good, nor sweet, we are Souldiers And you miscreants that abuse the Generall, Give fire my boyes, 'tis a darke evening, Let's light 'em to their lodgings.

+ Good brother be not fierce. I will not hurt her, Feare not sweet Lady. 'May do what you please sir, I have a sorrow that exceeds all yours, And more contemnes all danger. Where is the Duke? He's here; what would ye Souldiers? wherefore troop ye Like mutinous mad-men thus? Give me my father. Give us our Generall. Set him here before us, Ye see the pledge we have got; ye see these torches; All shall to ashes, as I live, immediately, A thousand lives for one. But heare me? No, we come not to dispute. By heaven I sweare he's rackt and whipt. Oh my poore father! Burne, kill, and burne. Hold, hold I say: hold Souldiers, On your allegeance hold. We must not. Hold: I sweare by heaven he is a barbarous Traitour stirs first, A villaine, and a stranger to obedience, Never my Souldier more, nor friend to honour: Why did you use your old man thus? thus cruelly Torture his poore weake body? I ever lov'd ye. Forget me in these wrongs, most noble Archas. I have balme enough for all my hurts: weep no more sir, A satisfaction for a thousand sorrowes:

+ I do beleeve ye innocent, a good man, And heaven forgive that naughty thing that wrong'd me. Why looke ye wild my friends? why stare ye on me? I charge ye as ye are men, my men, my lovers, As ye are honest faithfull men, faire Souldiers, Let downe your anger: Is not this our Soveraigne, The head of mercie, and of Law? who dares then, But Rebels scorning Law, appeare thus violent? Is this a place for Swords? for threatning fires? The reverence of this house dares any touch, But with obedient knees, and pious duties. Are we not all his Subjects? all sworn to him? Has not he power to punish our offences? And do not we dayly fall into 'em? assure your selves I did offend and highly, grievously, This good sweet Prince I offended, my life forfeited, Which yet his mercy, and his old love met with, And only let me feele his light rod this way: Ye are to thanke him for your Generall, Pray for his life, and fortune: sweat your blouds for him. You are offenders too, daily offenders, Proud insolencies dwell in your hearts, and ye do 'em, Do 'em against his peace, his law, his Person; Ye see he only sorrowes for your sins, And where his power might persecute, forgives ye: For shame put up your Swords, for honesty, For orders sake and whose ye are, my Souldiers, Be not so rude. They have drawne bloud from ye sir. That was the bloud rebel'd, the naughty bloud, The proud provoking bloud; 'tis well 'tis out boy; Give you example first; draw out, and orderly. Good brother doe. Honest and high example, As thou wilt have my blessing follow thee, Inherit all mine honours: thanke ye Theodore, My worthy son.

+ If harme come, thanke your selfe sir, I must obey ye. Captaine, you know the way now: A good man, and a valiant, you were ever, Inclind to honest things: I thanke ye Captaine. Souldiers, I thanke ye all: and love me still, But do not love me so you lose allegeance, Love that above your lives: once more I thanke ye. Bring him to rest, and let our cares waite on him; Thou excellent old man, thou top of honour, Where justice, and obedience onlie build, Thou stocke of vertue, how am I bound to love thee? In all thy noble waies to follow thee? Remember him that vext him sir. Remember? When I forget that villaine, and to pay him For all his mischiefes, may all good thoughts forget me. I am very sore. Bring him to bed ease Gentlemen, For everie stripe I'le drop a teare to wash 'em, And in my sad repentance = 'Tis too much, I have a life yet left to gaine that love sir. + How do's Lord Archas yet? But weake and't please ye, Yet all the helpes that art can, are applied to him; His heart's untouch't, and whole yet; and no doubt sir, His minde being sound, his body soone will follow. O that base knave that wrong'd him, without leave too; But I shall find an houre to give him thankes for't; He's fast I hope?

+ As fast as irons can keep him: But the most fearefull wretch = He has a conscience, A cruell stinging one I warrant him, A loaden one: But what newes of the Souldier? I did not like their parting, 'twas too sullen. That they keep still, and I feare a worse clap: They are drawn out of the Towne, and stand in counsels, Hatching unquiet thoughts, and cruell purposes: I went my selfe unto 'em, talk't with the Captaines, Whom I found fraught with nothing but loud murmurs, And desperate curses, sounding these words often Like trumpets to their angers: we are ruin'd, Our services turn'd to disgraces, mischiefes, Our brave old Generall, like one had pilfer'd, Tortur'd, and whipt: the Collonells eyes like torches, Blaze everie where and fright faire peace. Yet worse sir: The newes is currant now, they meane to leave ye, Leave their allegiance: and under Olins charge, The bloudy Enemy, march strait against ye. I have heard this too sir. This must be prevented, And suddenly, and warily. 'Tis time sir, But what to minister, or how? Go in with me, And there wee'l thinke upon't: such blows as these, Equall defences aske, else they displease. + Lord, what a coile has here been with these Souldiers? They are cruell fellowes. And yet me thought we found 'em Hansome enough; I'le tell thee true Petesca,

+ I look'd for other manner of dealings from 'em, And had prepar'd my selfe; but where's my Lady? In her old dumps within: monstrous mellancholly; Sure she was mad of this wench. And she had been a man, She would have been a great deale madder, I am glad she is+ shifted. 'Twas a wicked thing for me to betray her, And yet I must confesse she stood in our lights. What young thing's this? Good morrow beuteous Gentlewomen: Pray you is the Princesse stirring yet? He has her face. Her very tongue, and tone too: her youth upon him. I ghesse ye be the Princesse women. Yes, We are sir. Pray is there not a Gentlewoman waiting on her Grace, Ye call Alinda? The devill sure in her shape. I have heard her tell my Lady of a brother, An only brother that she had: in travell = 'Mas, I remember that: this may be he too: I would this thing would serve her. So would I wench, We should love him better sure: sir, here's the Princesse, She best can satisfie ye. How I love that presence! O blessed eyes how nobly shines your comforts! What Gentleman is that? We know not Madam: He ask'd us for your Grace: and as we guesse it, He is Alindas Brother. Ha? let me marke him:

+ My griefe has almost blinded me: her brother? By Venus, he has all her sweetnesse upon him: Two silver drops of dew, were never liker. Gratious Lady = That pleasant pipe he has too. Being my happinesse to passe by this way, And having as I understand by Letters, A sister in your vertuous service Madam = O now my heart, my heart akes. All the comfort My poore youth has, all that my hopes have built me, I thought it my first duty, my best service Here to arive first, humbly to thanke your Grace For my poore sister, humbly to thanke your noblenesse, That bounteous goodnesse in ye = 'Tis he certainly. That spring of favour to her: with my life Madam If any such most happy meanes might meet me, To shew my thankefulnesse. What have I done foole? She came a stranger to your Grace, no Courtier; Nor of that curious breed befits your service, Yet one I dare assure my soule, that lov'd ye Before she saw ye; doated on your vertues; Before she knew those faire eyes, long'd to read 'em, You only had her prayers, you her wishes; And that one hope to be yours once, preserv'd her. I have done wickedly. A little beauty, Such as a Cottage breeds, she brought along with her; And yet our countrie eyes esteem'd it much too: But for her beauteous mind forget great Lady I am her brother, and let me speake a stranger, Since she was able to beget a thought, 'twas honest, The dayly studdy how to fit your services, Truly to tread that vertuous path you walke in,

+ So fir'd her honest soule, we thought her Sainted; I presume she is still the same: I would faine see her, For Madam, 'tis no little love I owe her. Sir, such a maid there was, I had = There was Madam? O my poore wench: eyes, I will ever curse ye For your credulity. Alinda = That's her name, Madam. Give me a little leave sir to lament her. Is she dead Lady? Dead sir, to my service. She is gone, pray ye aske no further. I obey Madam: Gone? now must I lament too: said ye gone, Madam? Gone, gone for ever. That's cruell saying: Her honour too? Prethee looke angry on me, And if thou ever lovedst her, spit upon me; Doe something like a brother, like a friend, And do not only say thou lov'st her = Ye amaze me. I ruin'd her, I wrong'd her, I abus'd her; Poore innocent soule, I flung her; sweet Alinda, Thou vertuous maid, my soule now cals thee vertuous. Why do ye not raile now at me? For what Lady? Call me base treacherous woman. Heaven defend me. Rashly I thought her false, and put her from me, Rashly, and madly I betrai'd her modesty, Put her to wander, heaven knows where: nay, more sir, Stucke a blacke brand upon her. 'Twas not well Lady. 'Twas damnable: she loving me so deerely, Never poore wench lov'd so: Sir, beleeve me,

+ 'Twas the most dutious wench, the best companion, When I was pleas'd, the happiest, and the gladdest, The modestest sweet nature dwelt within her: I saw all this, I knew all this, I lov'd it, I doated on it too, and yet I kil'd it: O what have I forsaken? what have I lost? Madam, I'le take my leave, since she is wandring, 'Tis fit I know no rest. Will you go too sir? I have not wrong'd you yet, if you dare trust me, For yet I love Alinda there, I honour her, I love to looke upon these eyes that speake her, To read that face againe, modesty keepe me, Alinda, in that shape: = but why should you trust me, 'Twas I betray'd your sister, I undid her; And beleeve me, gentle youth, 'tis I weep for her: Appoint what pennance you please: but stay then, And see me performe it: aske what honour this place Is able to heape on ye, or what wealth: If following me will like ye, my care of ye, Which for your sisters sake, for your owne goodnesse = Not all the honour earth h'as, now she's gone Lady, Not all the favour; yet if I sought preferment, Under your bounteous Grace I would only take it. Peace rest upon ye: one sade teare every day For poore Alindas sake, 'tis fit ye pay. A thousand noble youth, and when I sleep, Even in my silver slumbers still I'le weep. + Have ye been with 'em? Yes, and't please your Grace, But no perswasion serves 'em, nor no promise, They are fearefull angry, and by this time sir, Upon their march to the enemy. They must be stopt.

+ #I, but what force is able? and what leader = How now, have you been with Archas? Yes, and't please ye, And told him all: he frets like a chaf'd Lyon, And cals for his Armes: and all those honest Courtiers That dare draw Swords. Is he able to do any thing? His mind is well enough; and where his charge is, Let him be ne're so sore, 'tis a full Army. Who commands the Rebels? The young Collonell, That makes the old man almost mad: he sweares sir, He will not spare his Sons head for the Dukedome. Is the Court in Armes? As fast as they can bussell, Every man mad to goe now: inspir'd strangely, As if they were to force the Enemie,, I beseech your Grace to give me leave. Pray go sir, And looke to the old man well; take up all fairely, And let no bloud be spilt; take generall pardons, And quench this fury with faire peace. I shall sir, Or seale it with my service; they are villaines; The Court is up: good sir, go strengthen 'em, Your Royall sight will make 'em scorne all dangers; The Generall needs no proofe. Come let's go view 'em. + 'Tis known we are up, and marching: no submission, No promise of base peace can cure our maladies, We have suffer'd beyond all repaire of honour:

+ Your valiant old man's whipt; whipt Gentlemen, Whipt like a slave: that flesh that never trembled, Nor shrunke one sinew at a thousand charges, That noble body rib'd in armes, the Enemy So often shooke at, and then shun'd like thunder, That bodies torne with lashes. Let's turne head. Turne nothing Gentlemen, let's march on fairely, Unlesse they charge us. Thinke still of his abuses, And keep your angers. He was whipt like a top, I never saw a whore so lac'd: Court schoole-butter? Is this their diet? I'le dresse 'em one running banquet: What Oracle can alter us? did not we see him? See him we lov'd? And though we did obey him, Forc'd by his reverence for that time; is't fit Gentlemen? My noble friends, is't fit we men, and Souldiers, Live to endure this, and looke on too? Forward: They may call backe the Sun as soone, stay time, Prescribe a Law to death, as we endure this. They will make ye all faire promises. We care not. Use all their arts upon ye. Hang all their arts. And happily they'l bring him with 'em. March apace then, He is old and cannot overtake us. Say he doe. Wee'l run away with him: they shall never see him more: The truth is, wee'l heare nothing, stop at nothing, Consider nothing but our way; beleeve nothing, Not though they say their prayers: be content with nothing, But the knocking out their braines: and last, do nothing But ban 'em and curse 'em, till we come to kill 'em.

+ Remove then forwards bravely; keep your minds whole, And the next time we face 'em, shall be fatall. + Peace to your Grace; take rest sir, they are before us. They are sir, and upon the march. Lord Burris, Take you those horse and coast 'em: upon the first advantage, If they will not slacke their march, charge 'em up roundly, By that time I'le come in. I'le do it truly. How do you feele your selfe sir? Well, I thanke ye; A little weake, but anger shall supply that; You will all stand bravely to it? Whilst we have lives sir. Ye speake like Gentlemen; I'le make the knaves know, The proudest, and the strongest hearted Rebell, They have a law to live in, and they shall have; Beat up a pace, by this time he is upon 'em, And sword, but hold me now, thou shalt play ever. Stand, stand, stand close, and sure; the horse will+ charge us. Let 'em come on, we have provender fit for 'em. Here comes Lord Burris sir, I thinke to parley. You are welcome noble sir, I hope to our part. No, valiant Collonell, I am come to chide ye, To pity ye; to kill ye, if these faile me;

+ Fie, what dishonour seeke ye? what blacke infamy! Why doe ye draw out thus? draw all shame with ye! Are these fit cares in subjects? I command ye Lay downe your armes againe, move in that peace, That faire obedience you were bred in. Charge us! We come not here to argue. Charge up bravely, And hotly too, we have not spleenes to meet ye, Hot as the shames are offer'd us. Looke behind ye. Do you see that old man? do you know him Souldiers? Your father sir, beleeve me = You know his marches, You have seene his executions: is it yet peace? Wee'l dye here first. Farewell: you'l heare on's presently. Stay Burris: This is too poore, too beggerly a body To beare the honour of a charge from me, A sort of tatterd Rebels; go provide Gallowses; Ye are troubled with hot heads, I'le coole ye presently: These looke like men that were my Souldiers Now I behold 'em neerly, and more narrowly, My honest friends: where got they these faire figures? Where did they steale these shapes? They are strooke already. Do you see that fellow there, that goodly Rebell? He lookes as like a Captaine, I lov'd tenderly: A fellow of a faith indeed. He has sham'd him. And that that beares the Collors there, most certaine So like an Ancient of mine owne, a brave fellow, A loving and obedient, that beleeve me Burris, I am amaz'd and troubled: and were it not

+ I know the generall goodnesse of my people, The duty, and the truth, the steadfast honestie, And am assur'd they would as soone turne devils As Rebells to allegeance, for mine honour = Here needs no wars. I pray forgive us sir. Good generall forgive us, or use your sword, Your words are double death. Good noble Generall. Pray sir be mercifull. Weep out your shames first, Ye make me foole for companie: fie Souldiers, My Souldiers too, and play these tricks: what's he there? Sure I have seen his face too; yes, most certaine I have a son, but I hope he is not here now, 'Would much resemble this man, wondrous neare him, Just of his height and making too, you seeme a Leader. Good sir, do not shame me more: I know your anger, And lesse then death, I looke not for. You shall be my charge sir, it seemes you want foes, When you would make your friends your Enemies: A running bloud ye have, but I shall cure ye. Good sir = No more good Lord: beate forward Souldiers: And you, march in the reare, you have lost your places. + You shall not be thus sullen still, with me sister You doe the most unnobly to be angry, For as I have a soule, I never touch'd her, I never yet knew one unchast thought in her: I must confesse, I lov'd her: as who would not? I must confesse I doated on her strangely, I offer'd all, yet so strong was her honour,

+ So fortifi'd as faire, no hope could reach her, And whilst the world beheld this, and confirmd it, Why would you be so jealous? Good sir pardon me, I feele sufficiently my follies pennance, And am asham'd, that shame a thousand sorrowes Feed on continually, would I had never seen her, Or with a clearer judgement look'd upon her, She was too good for me, so heavenly good sir, Nothing but heaven can love that soule sufficiently. Where I shall see her once againe. No more teares, If she be within the Dukedome, wee'l recover her: Welcome Lord Burris, faire newes I hope. Most faire sir, Without one drop of bloud these wars are ended, The Souldier coold againe, indeed asham'd sir, And all his anger ended. Where's Lord Archas? Not far off sir: with him his valiant son, Head of this fire, but now a prisoner, And if by your sweet mercie not prevented, I feare some fatall stroke. I here the drums beate, Welcome, my worthy friend. Stand where ye are sir, Even as you love your Country, move not forward, Nor plead for peace, till I have done a justice, A justice on this villaine; none of mine now, A justice on this Rebell. O my Brother. This fatall firebrand =

+ Forget not old man, He is thy son of thine owne bloud. In these veines No treacherie e're harbour'd yet, no mutinie, I ne're gave life to lewd and headstrong Rebels. 'Tis his first fault. Not of a thousand sir, Or were it so, it is a fault so mightie, So strong against the nature of all mercie, His mother were she living, would not weep for him, He dare not say he would live. I must not sir, Whilst you say 'tis not fit: your Graces mercy Not to my life appli'd, but to my fault sir, The worlds forgivenesse next, last, on my knees sir, I humbly beg, Do not take from me yet the name of father, Strike me a thousand blowes, but let me dye yours. He moves my heart: I must be suddaine with him, I shall grow faint else, in my execution; Come, come sir, you have seen death; now meet him bravely. Hold, hold I say, a little hold, consider Thou hast no more sons Archas to inherit thee. Yes sir, I have another, and a nobler: No treason shall inherit me: young Archas A boy, as sweet as young, my brother breeds him, My noble brother Briskie, breeds him nobly, Him let your favour find: give him your honour. Thou hast no child left Archas, none to inherit thee If thou strikst that stroke now: behold young Archas; Behold thy brother here, thou bloudy brother, As bloudy to this sacrifice as thou art: Heave up thy sword, and mine's heav'd up: strike Archas, And I'le strike too, as suddenly, as deadly:

+ Have mercy, and I'le have mercy: the Duke gives it, Looke upon all these, how they weep it from thee, Choose quickly, and begin. On your obedience, On you allegeance save him. Take him to ye, And sirha, be an honest man, ye have reason: I thank ye worthy Brother; welcome child, Mine owne sweet child. Why was this boy concealed thus? Your graces pardon: Fearing the vow you made against my brother And that your anger would not only light On him, but find out all his familie, This young boy, to preserve from after danger, Like a young wench, hether I brought; my selfe In the habit of an ordinarie Captaine Disguis'd, got entertainement, and serv'd here That I might still be ready to all fortunes: The boy your Grace tooke, nobly entertain'd him,+ But thought a Girle, Alinda, Madam. Stand away, And let me looke upon him. My young Mistris? This is a strange metamorphosis, Alinda? Your graces humble servant. Come hether sister: I dare yet scarce beleeve mine eyes! how they view one another? Dost thou not love this boy well? I should lye else, Trust me, extreamely lye sir. Didst thou never wish Olimpia, It might be thus? A thousand times. Here take him: Nay, do not blush: I do not jest; kisse sweetly:

+ Boy, ye kisse faintly boy; heaven give ye comfort; Teach him, he'l quickly learne: two hearts eas'd now. You do me too much honour sir. No Archas, But all I can, I will; can you love me? speake truly. Yes sir, dearly. Come hether Viola, can you love this man? I'le do the best I can sir. Seale it Burris: Wee'l all to Church together instantly: And then a vie for boyes; stay, bring Boroskie. I had almost forgot that lumpe of mischiefe. There Archas, take the enemie to honour, The knave to worth: do with him what thou wilt. Then to my sword againe; you to your prayers; Wash off your villanies, you feele the burthen. Forgive me ere I die, most honest Archas; 'Tis too much honour that I perish thus; O strike my faults to kill them, that no memorie, No blacke and blasted infamy heareafter = Come, are ye ready? Yes. And truly penitent, to make your way straight? Thus I wash off my sins, Stand up, and live then, And live an honest man; I scorne mens ruin's: Take him againe, Sir, trie him: and beleeve This thing will be a perfect man. I take him. And when I faile those hopes, heavens hopes faile me. You are old: no more wars Father: Theodore take you the charge, be Generall. All good blesse ye. And my good father, you dwell in my bosome, From you rise all my good thoughts: when I would think

+ And examine time for one that's fairely noble, And the same man through all the straights of vertue, Upon this silver booke I'le looke, and read him. Now forward merrily to Hymens rights, To joyes, and revels, sports, and he that can Most honour Archas, is the noblest man. + Though something well assur'd, few here repent Three houres of pretious time, or money spent On our endeavours. Yet not to relye Too much upon our care, and industrie, 'Tis fit we should aske, but a modest way How you approve our action in the play. If you vouchsafe to crowne it with applause, It is your bountie, and you give us cause Hereafter with a generall consent To study, as becomes us, your content.