You much rejoice me now you have hit my meaning,I durst not press ye, till I found your spirits:
Continue thus.
Anc. I'll go and tell the Duke on't.
Puts. No, no, he'll find it soon enough, and fear it,
When once occasion comes: Another Packet!
From whence, Friend, come you?
2 Post. From the Borders, Sir.
Puts. What news, Sir, I beseech you?
2 Post. Fire and Sword, Gentlemen;
The Tartar's up, and with a mighty force,
Comes forward, like a tempest, all before him
Burning and killing.
Anc. Brave Boys, brave news, Boys.
2 Post. Either we must have present help —
Anc. Still braver.
2 Post. Where lies the Duke?
Sold. He's there.
2 Post. 'Save ye, Gentlemen. [Exit.
Anc. We are safe enough, I warrant thee:
Now the time's come.
Puts. I, now 'tis come indeed, and now stand firm, Boys,
And let 'em burn on merrily.
Anc. This City would make a fine marvellous Bone-fire:
'Tis old dry timber, and such Wood has no fellow.
2 Sold. Here will be trim piping anon and whining,
Like so many Pigs in a storm,
When they hear the news once.
Puts. Here's one has heard it already;
Room for the General.
Boros. Say I am faln exceeding sick o'th' sudden,
And am not like to live.
Puts. If ye go on, Sir,
For they will kill ye certainly; they look for ye.
Anc. I see your Lordship's bound, take a suppository,
'Tis I, Sir; a poor cast Flag of yours. The foolish Tartars
They burn and kill, and't like your honour, kill us,
Kill with Guns, with Guns my Lord, with Guns, Sir.
What says your Lordship to a chick in sorrel sops?
Puts. Go, go thy ways old true-penny;
Thou hast but one fault: thou art ev'n too valiant.
Come, to'th' Army Gentlemen, and let's make them acquainted.
Sold. Away, we are for ye. [Exeunt.
Alin. Why, whither run ye Fools; will ye leave my Lady?
Petes. The Tartar comes, the Tartar comes.
Alin. Why, let him,
I thought you had fear'd no men: upon my conscience
You have try'd their strengths already; stay for shame.
Pet. Shift for thy self, Alinda. [Exit.
Alin. Beauty bless ye:
Into what Grooms Feather-Bed will you creep now?
And there mistake the enemy; sweet youths ye are,
And of a constant courage; are you afraid of foining?
Olym. O my good Wench, what shall become of us?
The Posts come hourly in, and bring new danger;
The enemy is past the Volga, and bears hither
With all the blood and cruelty he carries,
My Brother now will find his fault.
Alin. I doubt me,
Somewhat too late, Madam. But pray fear not,
All will be well, I hope. Sweet Madam, shake not.
Olym. How cam'st thou by this Spirit? our Sex trembles.
Alin. I am not unacquainted with these dangers;
And you shall know my truth; for ere you perish,
A hundred Swords shall pass through me: 'tis but dying,
And Madam we must do it: the manner's all:
You have a Princely Birth, take Princely thoughts to you,
And take my counsel too; go presently,
With all the haste ye have, (I will attend ye)
With all the possible speed, to old Lord Archas,
He honours ye; with all your art perswade him,
('Twill be a dismal time else) woo him hither,
But hither Madam, make him see the danger;
For your new General looks like an Ass;
There's nothing in his face but loss.
Olym. I'll do it.
And thank thee, sweet Alinda: O my Jewel,
How much I'm bound to love thee! by this hand, Wench,
If thou wert a man —
Alin. I would I were to fight for you.
But haste dear Madam.
Olym. I need no Spurs Alinda.
Du. The Lord General sick now? is this a time
For men to creep into their Beds? What's become, Post,
Of my Lieutenant?
Post. Beaten, and't please your Grace,
And all his Forces sparkled.
Du. That's but cold news:
How now, what good news? are the Souldiers ready?
Ge. Yes Sir, but fight they will not, nor stir from that place
They stand in now, unless they have Lord Archas
To lead 'em out; they rail upon this General,
And sing Songs of him, scurvy Songs, to worse tunes:
And much they spare not you, Sir: here they swear
They'll stand and see the City burnt, and dance about it,
Unless Lord Archas come before they fight for't:
It must be so, Sir.
Du. I could wish it so too;
And to that end I have sent Lord Burris to him;
But all I fear will fail; we must dye, Gentlemen,
And one stroke we'll have for't.
What bring'st thou, Burris?
Bur.
