A Select Collection of Old English Plays Volume Xiv Part 40

ELE. Well so; you turn my brains; you mar the face Of my attempts i' the making; for this chaos, This lump of projects, ere it be lick'd over, 'Tis like a bear's conception; stratagems, Being but begot and not got out, are like Charg'd cannons not discharg'd--they do no harm Nor good. True policy, breeding in the brain, Is like a bar of iron, whose ribs being broken And soften'd in the fire, you then may forge it Into a sword to kill, or to a helmet to defend, Life. 'Tis therefore wit to try all fas.h.i.+ons, Ere you apparel villany. But--but I ha' suited him; fit, fit, O, fit!

QUEEN-M. How, prythee, how?

ELE. Why, thus;--yet, no;--let's hence My heart is nearest of my council, yet I scarce dare trust my heart with't; what I do, It shall look old the hour wherein 'tis born; Wonders twice seen are garments overworn.

[_Exeunt._

SCENE V.

_Enter_ CARDINAL _at one door_; PHILIPPO _half-armed, and two_ SOLDIERS _following him with the rest of the armour; the_ CARDINAL, _seeing him, turns back again_.

PHIL. Sirrah! you, cardinal! coward! run away!

So ho, ho! what, cardinal!

CAR. I am not for your lure.

[_Exit._

PHIL. For that then, O, [_Touching his sword_] that it had nail'd thy heart Up to the pommel to the earth; come, arm me.

Ha! 'sfoot! when all our swords were royally gilt with blood, When with red sweat, that trickled from our wounds, We had dearly earn'd a victory; when h.e.l.l Had from their hinges heav'd off her iron gates, To bid the d.a.m.n'd Moor and the devils enter, Then to lose all, then to sound base retreat; Why, soldiers, ha!

1ST SOL. I am glad of it, my lord.

PHIL. Ha, glad! art glad I am dishonoured, That thou and he [have me] dishonoured?

1ST SOL. Why, my lord, I am glad that you so cleanly did come off.

PHIL. Thou hast a lean face and a carrion heart; A plague on him and thee too: then, 'sheart! then To crack the very heart-strings of our army-- To quarter it in pieces--I could tear my hair, And in cursing spend my soul; Cardinal! what, Judas! come, we'll fight, Till there be left but one; if I be he, I'll die a glorious death.

1ST SOL. So will I, I hope, in my bed.

[_Aside._]

2D SOL. Till there be but one left, my lord? Why, that's now; for all our fellows are crawled home; some with one leg, some ne'er an arm, some with their brains beaten out, and glad they 'scaped so.

PHIL. But, my dear countrymen, you'll stick to me?

1ST SOL. Stick! ay, my lord, stick like bandogs, till we be pulled off.

PHIL. That's n.o.bly said: I'll lead you but to death, Where I'll have greatest share; we shall win fame For life, and that doth crown a soldier's name.

1ST SOL. How! to death, my lord? Not I, by Gad's-lid: I have a poor wife and children at home, and, if I die, they beg: and do you think I'll see her go up and down the wide universal world?

PHIL. For every drop of blood which thou shalt lose, Coward, I'll give thy wife a wedge of gold.

2D SOL. Hang him, meac.o.c.k! my lord, arm yourself; I'll fight for you, till I have not an eye to see the fire in my touch-hole.

PHIL. Be thou a king's companion; thou and I Will dare the cardinal and the Moor to fight In single combat; shall we, ha?

2D SOL. Agreed.

PHIL. We'll beat'm to h.e.l.l-gate; shall we, ha?

2D SOL. h.e.l.l-gate's somewhat too hot, somewhat too hot; the porter's a knave: I'd be loth to be d.a.m.ned for my conscience; I'll knock any body's costard, so I knock not there, my lord; h.e.l.l-gates!

PHIL. A pox upon such slaves!

1ST SOL. Hang him, a peasant! my lord, you see I am but a scrag; my lord, my legs are not of the biggest, nor the least, nor the best that e'er were stood upon--nor the worst; but they are of G.o.d's making; and for your sake, if ever we put our enemies to flight again, by Gad's-lid, if I run not after them like a tiger, hough[68] me.

PHIL. But wilt thou stand to't ere they fly, ha, wilt thou?

1ST SOL. Will I, quoth-a! by this hand and the honour of a soldier.

PHIL. And by a soldier's honour I will load thee With Spanish pistolets: to have this head, Thy face, and all thy body stuck with scars, Why 'tis a sight more glorious than to see A lady hung with diamonds. If thou lose A hand, I'll send this after; if an arm, I'll lend thee one of mine; come then, let's fight.

A mangled, lame, true soldier is a gem Worth Caesar's empire, though fools spurn at them.

1ST SOL. Yet, my lord, I have seen lame soldiers not worth the crutches they leant upon; hands and arms, quoth-he! Zounds! not I. I'll double my files, or stand sentry, or so; but I'll be hanged and quartered, before I'll have my members cut off.

2D SOL. And I too: hold thee there.

PHIL. Hold you both there; away, you rogues, you dirt!

[_Beats them both in._

Thus do I tread upon you; out, begone!

One valiant is an host: fight then alone.

_Enter_ CARDINAL, ALVERO, CHRISTOFERO, _and Soldiers_.

CAR. Prince Philip.

PHIL. For the crown of Spain, come all.

CAR. We come in love and peace.

PHIL. But come in war; Bring naked swords, not laurel boughs, in peace!

Plague on your rank peace! will you fight and cry, Down with the Moor? and then I'm yours; I'll die.

I have a heart, two arms, a soul, a head; I'll lay that down; I'll venture all--'sfoot, all!

Come, tread upon me, so that Moor may fall.

CAR. By heaven, that Moor shall fall.

PHIL. Thy hand and thine.

[_Flings down his weapons._

Give me but half your hearts, you have all mine; By heaven, shall he fall?