A Collection of Old English Plays, Vol. III - Various
_Pem_. Talke not of yeres, yeres limit not a Crowne;
There's no prescription to inthrall a King.
He finds it written in the Rowles of time
Navar's a Kingdome solely absolute,
And by collusion of the Kings of France,
The people speaking all one mother toung,
It hath bin wrested for a Royalty
Untruly due unto the Crowne of France.
That _Pembrook_ speaks the truth, behold my sword,
Which shall approve my words substantiall.
_Rod_. _Pembrooke_, you are too plaine in your discourse.
_Bur_. I tell thee, _Rodoricke, Pembrooke_ soldier-like
Hath truely opened what ten thousand lives
Will hardly doe if warre be made the Judge.
_Rod_. If war be Judge? Why, shallow-witted _Burbon_,
Who shall decide this difference but war?
Hath not the Judge put on his Scarlet Robe?
Is not the field prepar'd? our men in armour?
The trumpets ready for the sound of death,
And nothing hinders us but our owne words?
Leave idle parley, my dread soveraigne Lord,
And soone resolve the Duke in fire and smoke
That he maintaines a title false and forg'd,
And that _Navar_ is a usurping Lord.
_Na_. On that Ile hazzard all these valiant lives.
Sound Drums and Trumpets! make King _Lewes_ know
He makes his best friend prove his greatest foe.
_Lew_. Why pause our drums? our trumpets beat as loud!
Till the bright ayre be made a purple cloud.
_Phil_. Pause, gracious father.
_Ferd_. Noble father, pause.
Let _Ferdinand_ thy sonne so far prevayle
That peace, not war, may end this difference.
_Bel_. For _Bellamiraes_ sake abstayne from war.
_Phil_. _Philip_ thy sonne humbly desires a peace:
Let not my father sheathe his warlike sword
Within the bowels of his Countrymen.
_Kath_. Thy daughter _Katharina_ prayes the like.
_Nav_. From whence proceeds this sudden sound of peace?
Comes it from me? what? from my _Ferdinand_,
From _Bellamira_ my sweet second selfe?
_Lew_. Or rather comes it, _Lewes_, from thy soule,
Thy _Philip_ the true image of thy selfe,
Thy _Katharina_ thy heart's chiefest joy?
_Rod_. Princes, you aske you know not what your selves.
_Pem_. _Rodorick_, they aske a sweet and pleasing boone.
_Rod_. Why, they aske peace and we are set for war.
_Fer_. Tis a bad peace exceeds not a just war.
_Phil_. We will not rise from this submissive ground
Till we obtayne, if not a peace, a truce.
_Fer_. Nor shall our feet be guilty of new steps
Till I obtayne a truce from murdering war.
_Lew_. Shew me some reason (sonne) for this demand.
_Nav_. Shew me some reason (children) for this prayer.
_Fer_. I love the daughter of thine enemy:
Fayre _Katherina_ hath inthrald my heart.
_Phil_. I love the daughter of thine enemy:
Fayre _Bellamira_ hath inthrald my heart.
_Pem_. Is love the cause? then wherefore wage we war?
What matter ist who weares both Diadems,
When the succession lives in eythers heyre?
If _Ferdinand_ be crown'd king of Navar,
Fayre _Katherina_ shalbe crownd his Queene:
If _Philip_ weare the Diadem of France,
Fayre _Bellamira_, made his lovely Queene,
Swayes half the Scepter. See what heaven can doe,--
Provide for peace even in the jawes of war!
_Kath_. How sweetly doth the Earle of Pembrooke speake!
Now, trust me, I am ravisht with his voyce.
_Lew_. What says _Navar_? What, is [i]t war or peace?
_Na_. A truce for three moneths, so it please your Highnes,
During which time our children shall have leave
With Drum and Trumpet to surveigh the Campe,
To court our daughters and to feast themselves
As fits the sonnes of honourable foes.
And if it prove a match betweene them both,
There end all difference: Ile bequeath my Crowne
As a rich offering to their nuptiall Rites.
_Lew_. Here, strike the truce upon my kingly hand,
Which is as surely ratified in this
As by the testimonial of a world.
So now for three moneths space all warres surcease:
Our thoughts are wholy fixt on love and peace.
[_Exe_.
_Manent_ Rodorick _and_ Burbon.
_Rod_. Zounds, here's a truce made up by miracle!
_Burb_. Ile crosse it by a wily stratageme.
_Rod_. What stratageme?
_Bur_. By love to _Bellamira_.
O could I dive into the Prince's heart
By any insinuation ne're so base,
How easily might I effect my plot
To make the kingdome of Navarre mine owne.
'Twere but a dram or so unto the sonne,
And a small thing would send the old man hence.
What, noble _Rodorick_? to gayne a Crowne
A Duke would doe much.
_Rod_. More then poyson two.
But you, my Lord, forget your selfe too farre.
Know you to whom you have disclosde your heart?
_Bur_. Why, to the Duke of Orleance.
_Rod_. The deare friend
Of _Lewes_ the French King.
_Burb_. King me no Kings.
Although we seeme to be of severall sides,
_Rodorick_, we love together like true friends.
This Truce gives ayme to our intention:
Assist me (worthy _Orleance_) to effect
First my desired love and next the Crowne.
_Rod_. _Peter de Lions_ is your Lordships servant,
A boone companion and a lusty knave.
He is in love with _Bellamiraes_ mayd,
And by that love he may bestead your Highnesse
More then your best friends in your best designes.
Call him forth.
_Burb_. What! _Peter_!
_Enter_ Peter.
_Pet_. Here, my Lord.
_Burb_. Why dost thou looke so wildly?
_Pet_. Not with drinke
Nor yet with rage.
_Rod_. His lookes are wild with love.
_Pet_. With love, surreverence[110]? can there be a face
In all the world patcht up with eyes and lips,
A forhead and a payre of crimson cheeks,
To make me doat on, to make me looke wild?
_Rod_. Come, come, tis knowne that you love _Thomasin_.
_Pet_. Zounds they that know that know my heart & all:
I have not the power to deny it, tis most true.
_Burb_. And tis most true that I love _Bellamira_.
Now, if thou art in favor of thy wench,
Many a meeting thou mayst helpe me to
And learne besides what sutors seeke her love
And whom she most affects. These things once knowne
Twere worth a Dukedome, _Peter_.
_Pet_. Sbloud, give me
A Dukedome and Ile warrant you the knowledge
Of these things ten times o're.
_Rod_. Theres Angels for thee, _Peter_, thinke on them
And doe thy best to helpe thy master's love.--
Well howsoever I smooth it to the Duke,
My thoughts are bent on his destruction.
_Pet_. You have my heart
In your purse; Ile doe anything for you.
_Bur_. And thou shalt want no gold; and so farwel.
[_Exeunt_.
_Pet_. I cannot chuse to farewell, and have the good Angels to comfort
me; yet I am melancholy. Heeres gold to make me merry: O but (hey ho)
heres love to make me sad. To avoyd prolixity I am crost with a Sutor
that wants a piece of his toung, and that makes him come lisping home.
They call him _Cavaliero Bowyer_; he will have no nay but the wench. By
these hilts, such another swash-buckler lives not in the nyne quarters
of the world. Why, he came over with the Earle of Pembrooke, and he
limps and he limps & he devoures more French ground at two paces then
will serve _Thomasin_ at nineteene. If ever he speake French, to avoyd
prolixity, he will murder the toung. Ile provide for him; theres but
small choice. Either he shall renounce the wench or forsake his lame
legs, his lisping toung and his life to: for by S. _Denis_ I had rather
dye in a ditch then be bobd[111] of my fayre _Thomasin_.
[_Exit_.
[SCENE 2.]
_Enter at one dore_ Philip _and_ Roderick, _a drummer
before them with his Drum at his back: at the other
dore_ Ferdinand _and_ Pembrooke _with their Drummes_.
_Ferd_. Whither goes royall _Philip_ thus prepard?
_Phil_. On what adventure goes Prince _Ferdinand_?
_Ferd_. To conquer all the world, fayre _Katharine_,
Whose beauty in mine eye surmounts it far.
Vertue and love conducts me to your sister.
_Phil_. On the like voyage are my fortunes bound,
I goe to winne thy sister.
_Ferd_. Some fayre Starre
On our great hopes shine fayre and debonaire.
_Pem_. Amen, sayth _Pembroke_.
_Rod_. Amen, sayth _Rodoricke_,
_Ferd_. This way my Love dwels.
_Phil_. In this ayre breathes mine.
_Both_. Farewell.
_Phil_. Prince _Ferdinand_ if these cross loves
Enjoy a wisht success, peace here shall dwell.
_Ferd_. And we be friendly Brothers.
_Phil_. True.
_Ferd_. Farewell.
[_Exeunt Philip and Rodoricke_.
_Pem_. Pity such true love, which like blessed seed
Sowne in such fertile soyle his princely brest,
By the rough stormy brow and winters hate
Of adverse parents should be timelesse nipt
And dye e're it attayne maturity.
For I have heard the Princesse whom he serves
Is hotely courted by the Duke of Burbon,
Who to effect his choyce hath in these warres
Furnisht your father with a gallant power;
His love may haply then disable _Philip_.
_Fer_. O no; my father doth affect the Prince:
Besides, my sister's heart is so combin'd
To his in perfect love that _Burbon's_ hate
Nor all the world that knot can separate.
Then sorrow not for him, but turne the streame
Of gentle pity on thy wretched friend
Within whose bosome love hath kindled fire
So ardent that the flames will bury me.
_Philip_ is throned in my sister's eyes,
But in my love disdayne and hatred lyes.
_Pem_. Doth she not pay true kindnesse with the like?
_Fer_. As stepdames orphanes, night the cleer-fac't day,
So doth she hate me and returne my woes
Like a steeld Anvil backward on my selfe.
She is all hate, yet such a lovely foe
That I must kisse the sword that wounds me so.
_Pem_. Interre these thoughts, this is her fathers tent:
Drum, give a friendly summons to the king.
_Fer_. Forbeare a while (deare _Pembroke_): by our vowes
Which in the booke of heaven are registered,
By all the rightes of friendship, by that love
Thou bear'st thy native Country, I conjure thee
This day to be the Trumpet of my worth;
To speake the passions of thy grieved friend
To _Katharine's_ ears, till those pure ivory gates,
Pearst with the volley of thy battring words,
Give way to my laments to touch her heart.
For this have I extracted thee from many,
Made thee my fellow Pilgrim to her shrine,
Knowing thy thoughts from loves Religion free:
When thy prayers fayle thy tongue may plead for me.
_Pem_. Must I be spokesman? _Pembrooke_ plead for love?
Whose tounge tuned to the Instruments of war
Never knew straine of fancy; on my breathe
Affection never dwelt, but war and death!
But if thou lov'dst to have thy soldiers fight,
Or hearten the spent courages of men,
_Pembrooke_ could use a stile invincible.
Lov'dst thou a towne, Ide teach thee how to woo her
With words of thunder-bullets wrapt in fire,[112]
Till with thy cannon battry she relent
And humble her proud heart to stoop to thee.
Or if not this, then mount thee on a steed
Whose courage never awde an yron Bit,
And thou shalt heare me hollow to the beast
And with commanding accents master him.
This courtship _Pembrooke_ knowes, but idle love,
The sick-fac't object of an amorous brayne,
Did never clothe mine eye-balls, never taught
This toung, inurde to broyles and stratagems,
The passionate language of a troubled heart:
I am too blunt and rude for such nice service.
Yet since my friend injoynes me to this taske,
Take courage, Ile both speake, plead, woo for thee,
And when I want fit words to move her mind
Ile draw my sword and sweare she must be kind.
Drummer, report our presence to the king.
_A parley and answered. Enter France, Flaunders
and attendants_.
_Lew_. Prince _Ferdinand_ and honourd English _Pembrooke_,
Now by S. _Denis_ welcome! One runne straight
And give our daughter notice of these ghests.
What, man? we know you come prepar'd to woo,
To woo, to winne: now by our sacred life
We wish in soule our daughter were your wife.
Our sonne is with your sister: faire hap wayt,
For peace or war lives in your love or hate.
Welcome once more: first weele go see your love,
After to banquet and from thence to woo.
Be merry then; weele share a friendly part,
But you shall tryumph in our daughter's heart.
[_Exeunt_.
[SCENE 3.]
_Enter_ Katharine, _her man_ Bowyer, _and a Paynter_.
_Kath_. See that the tent be ready furnished
By this my father and those Lords are met,
Mongst whom the noble _Pembrooke_, like the Sunne,
Out-shines the borrowed glory of the rest.
And well I may compare him to the Sunne,
That but once lookt upon with his fayre shape
Hath dazled my poore sences and left me blind.
But, sirra, where's the man I bade you bring?
_Bow_. If you can judge of colours (madam) this is he. Paynter,
stand forth.
_Kath_. An earnest cause (my friend) importunes me,
Wherein I am to crave thy cunningst Arte.
_Payn_. Such as it is you may commaund, faire Princesse.
_Kath_. But are thy colours fresh, thy pensill smoothe?
Thy hand unwavering, and thy head dislodg'd
Of all unquiet harsh incumbrances?
For thou must draw proportion of those parts
Whose worth to tell my toung wants utterance.
_Payn_. Feare you not, Madam; I am well prepar'd.
_Kat_. Then hither strait with youthfull _Ferdinand_,
_Navar's_ stout sonne, there comes an English Knight,
_Pembrooke_ they call him, honourably borne.
Him (when we are in conference) thou shalt marke
And to the life set doune his counterfet.
Nor is it needful I should shew him thee!
The goodliest person in the traine, that's he.
_Bow_. Let me alone to give the Paynter destruction. I know him as well
as the Begger knowes his dish[113]: he weares a white Scarfe in his hat
and an Orange tawny feather upon his arme.
_Kath_. Foole, indirectly thou describ'st another,
Thats Prince _Navar_: _Pembrooke_ his plume is Azure
A little intermixt with spotlesse white,
Prefiguring the temper of the Sky
With whose hye motion his great mind doth move.
_Bow_. Orange tawny and Azure, all's one, all is but feather; there is
no difference I am sure but in colour.
_Kath_. Why, thats as much as may be, is it not?
_Bow_. Not so, Ile prove the contrary: You are fayre and I am foule; is
it that all the difference betweene you and I? there's another thing in
it if you marke it well.
_Kath_. I prythee peace and with thy ignorance
Draw not the Paynter likewise into errour.
Here take thy stand; thou knowst him by these markes
I lately spake of. Seeme to excell thine Arte
And I will study to requite thy paynes.
_Enter Lewes, Ferdinand, Pembrooke, Rodoricke, and Flaunders_.
_Lew_. Thus did the Greeks, when they begirt the walles
Of strong-built Troy, sometimes with friendly cheeks
Entertayne peace and spend their frollick houres
In courtly feasting of each other foe.
Welcome, young _Ferdinand_! I promise you
It cheeres my spirit we doe embrace you here:
And welcome too, brave Lord. We cannot say,
As if we were in Paris we might say,
Your viands shall be costly: but presume,
Such as the Camp affords, weele have the best.
Daughter, I prythee bid them welcome.
_Kath_. My Lord, I doe,
That with the Congy of a bended knee,
But this with my true hearts[114] loyalty.
Lords, you are welcome by my father's leave.
_Lew_. Why, now thou dost content thy father _Kate_,
When wholy unto merryment inclined
Thou answerst with like simpathy of mind.
_Ferd_. But yet her looks are haggard and obscure,
Which makes me doubtfull sheele not stoop to lure.
_Lew_. Princes, let's enter: come, Ile lead the way!
The feast is mine, you are my ghests this day.
_Ferd_. Now, _Pembrooke_, shew thy friendships true effect;
Obtayne her love, my life thou shalt protect.
[_Exeunt Lew. Ferd. Rod. & Flaund_.
_Kath_.--He stayes behind the rest. O happy houre!
Worke on (sweet Paynter) to inrich mine eye
With that which els procures my tragedy.
_Pem_. Fayre Madam, in this confluence of sweet joy,
When every one resorts unto the feast,
Me thinkes you should not thus retyre alone,
As seeming your best fare were heavy mone.
_Kath_. I am not (Sir) alone, nor do I starve
My appetite with any wil-full fast;
I have a banquet of sweet pleasing thoughts
That is more precious then the costliest feast.
_Pem_. But at your father's boord there sits a ghest
To whom the cup of _Ganimede_ will seeme
But juice of Hemlocke, and the daintiest dish
As much unsavory as the Pomice stone,
Unlesse your presence season his delight.
_Kath_. I am sorry I want skill to serve his dyet;
I have not bin instructed to such end.
_Pem_. But I will teach you (Madam) if you please.
_Kath_. Rather the party grieved first should shew
Wherein we erre, els how can we discerne
What is our fault or how we may amend?
_Pem_. That office he commits unto my toung.
_Kath_. Is he not able then to speake himselfe?
_Pem_. Yes, Madam, I have heard when _Ferdinand_,
With whom in _Padua_ I was conversant,
So spake in the assembly of the learn'd,
With such a grace and well composed phrase,
As many thought grave _Tullies_ eloquence
Flowed like a hony River from his lips.
_Kath_. He wanteth then belike sufficient courage.
_Pem_. Never liv'd Knight lesse prejudic'd in that
Then valiant _Ferdinand_, whom I have seene
Couch his stiffe[115] Launce with such dexterity
As if the god of battell had himselfe
Entered the Lists, and preassing to the midst
Of steele-composed troops like lightning fly
Till he had made a passage with his sword.
_Kath_. So puissant in his fortitude with men,
And daunted with a silly womans looks!
How can that be?
_Pem_. Yes, when you weygh the force
Of your resistlesse and controwling beauty.
It is your beauty, were his power and spirit
Ten times more hauty-ventrous then it is,
Compels it stoope in homage to your foot
As trembling Lambs when they to Lions couch.
_Kath_. 'Twas well he chose so good an Orator
To plead the imperfections of his cause.
_Pem_. I should have that opinion of my selfe
If for my sake your Grace would favour him.
_Kath_. Yes, for your sake we have endur'd his name,
And for your sake we tolerate his suite;
But, when you cease to speake, then all that prayse
You have attributed to his desert
Seemes borrowed from your selfe; you are the man
Whose eloquence compares with _Ciceroes_,
You are the man whose knightly fortitude
Lives in the world unprejudic'd of any,
You vanquish beauty and inthrall the mind
Of female weaknesse with no lesser awe
Then Indian vassayles stoop unto their Lords.
The name of _Ferdinand_ you have mista'ne.
Say tis your selfe, and then your whole discourse
Observes the perfect method that it should.
_Pem_. Should I be false and trecherous to my friend?
I am intreated but to speake for him.
_Kath_. But for your selfe would be more acceptable.
Oh pardon me, nor let immodest stayne[116]
Cleave to my brow: my love is chastely bred.
Other then _Pembrooke Katharine_ never vowes
Shall be authoriz'd in her mayden thoughts.
_Pem_. Mistake me not, I say tis _Ferdinand_
Dyes in affection to your Deity.
_Kath_. But in affection I survive to none
But onely _Pembrooke_.
_Pem_. Will you be esteem'd
A cruel murdresse of a loyall friend?
_Kath_. Will _Pembrooke_ triumph in a womans fall?
_Pem_. You anger me. Respect young _Ferdinand_.
_Kath_. You please me not to speake of _Ferdinand_.
_Pem_. Nay, then, tis time to go or wrong my friend.
Since, Madam, what I would I cannot doe,
Mine honour here bids me leave off to woo. [_Exit_.
_Kath_. Stay, _Pembrooke_, Katharine will sue to thee;
So shalt thou keepe thy fayth and loyalty.
_Bow_. Tary, sir, tary, we want the length of your nose: nay, if you
will not heare, Ile be so bold as to follow your nose. Sir, tary, tary.
[_Exit_.
_Kath_. He will not heare nor (too unkind) looke backe.
_Payn_. But, Madam, spight his heart you shall see this.
_Kath_. Give me his picture. Image far more kind
Then is the substance whence thou art deriv'd,
Which way soever I divert my selfe
Thou seemst to follow with a loving eye.
Thee will I therefore hold within my armes
As some small comfort to increasing harmes.
_Enter Ferd_.
_Ferd_.--What meanes my second selfe by this long stay?
I cannot rest till I be certified
What good or bad successe my suite returnes.
But he is gone, and in faire _Katharines_ hand
I see his picture. What may this pretend?
_Kath_. Thou hast done well indeed, in every part
Thou shewst complete and cunning workmanship;
His eye, his lip, his cheeke are rightly fram'd,
But one thing thou hast grossly over-slipt:
Where is his stubborne unrelenting heart
That lurkes in secret as his master doth,
Disdayning to regard or pity me.
_Payn_. Madam, his heart must be imagined
By the description of the outward parts.
_Kath_. O no, for then it would be tractable,
Mild and applausive as the others be.
_Ferd_. No Prince but _Pembrooke_ dwels in _Katharines_ eye.
[_Kath_] Whose that disturbs our pleasing solitude?
_Ferd_. Know you not me? my name is _Ferdinand_,
Whose faithfull love Lord _Pembrooke_ late commenct.
_Kath_. Speake then for _Pembrooke_ as he did for you
Or els your bootlesse suite will soon be cold.
_Ferd_. Why he was Orator in my behalfe.
If I should speake for him, as he for me,
Then should I breathe forth passions[117] not mine owne.--
I, I, tis so; the villaine in my name
Hath purchas'd her affection for himselfe,
And therefore was he absent from the feast,
And therefore shuns my sight and leaves behind
This counterfet to keep him still in mind.
Tis so, tis so; base Traytor, for this wronge
My sword shall cut out thy perfidious toung. [_Exit_.
_Enter Bowyer_.
_Bow_. I have runne till I sweat, sweat till my shirt cleaves to my
backe, cryed till I am hoarse, and am hoarse till I cannot cry; and
yet he will not come backe.
_Kath_. No matter, fellow, I have here a pledge
Which I will zealously devote me to.--
There's thy reward: withdraw, my father comes.
[_Exit Painter_.
_Enter Lewes_.
_Lew_. Where are these Lords? the one hath sate with me
And suddenly is risen from the boord,
The other came not at all. Daughter, saw you
The Prince or _Pembrooke_ which way they are gone?
_Kath_. Backe to their Tents, my Lord, as I suppose.
_Lew_. Back to their tents and take no leave of us?
Nay, then I feare their meaning was too smoothe
And some black Treason cover'd in their smiles.
Which we will seeke immediately to prevent.
[_Exeunt_.
_Actus Secundus_.
[SCENE 1.]
_Enter Dicke Bowyer and soldiers, with Drum and colours_.
_Bow_. Stand, give the word along, stand.
_Lieu_. Stand there!
_Bow_. Lieutenant.
_Lieu_. Captayne.
_Bow_. Is the watch set in the King's quarter yet.
_Lieu_. An houre agoe.
_Bow_. 'Zounds what foolish Canaanits were they to run in debt to their
eyes for an houres sleepe sooner then they needed! Sergeant.
_Ser_. Anon, Sir.
_Bow_. Anon, Sir! s'hart the Rogue answers like a Drawer, but tis the
tricke of most of these Sergeants, all clincum clancum. Gods dynes[118],
I am an _Onyon_ if I had not rather serve formost in the forlorne hoope
of a battell or runne poynt blancke against the mouth of a double
charged Cannon then come under the arrests of some their pewter pessels.
Zounds, tis hotter a great deale then hell mouth and _Dives_ burning in
Sulphur: but thou art none of the genealogy of them. Where must we watch
to night?
_Serg_. In the furthest Trenches that confront the enemies campe.
_Bow_. Thats the next way to have all our throats cut.
_Lieu_. That cannot be; you know, Captain, there's a peace toward.
_Bow_. A pox a peace, it keeps our Ancient whole, but s'hart our
gaberdines go to wrack. But _futra_! tis well known since _Dick Bowyer_
came to France he hath shewed himselfe a gentleman and a Cavaliero and
sets feare at's heeles. And I could scape (a pox on it) th'other thing,
I might haps return safe and sound to England. But what remedy? al flesh
is grasse and some of us must needes be scorcht in this hote Countrey.
Lieutenant _Core_, prithee lead my Band to their quarter; and the rogues
do not as they should, cram thy selfe, good _Core_, downe their throats
and choak them. Who stands Sentronell to night, Sir?
_Sol_. That must I, Captayne.
_Bow_. You, _Rafe Nod_? zounds, soldiers, follow my discipline, say your
prayers, you are all dead men, all dust and ashes, all wormes meat.
_Lieu_. How so, Captayne?
_Bow_. Doe you make him Sentronell? s'hart heele nod[119] presently: and
he do not sleepe sitting upon the poynt of a Spanish needle, _Dicke
Bowyer's_ a very shittle-cocke. _Nod_! zounds, he is one of the nine
sleepers, a very Dormouse: & I had a pageant to present of the seven
deadly Sinnes[120], he should play Slouth; and he did not sleepe when he
should speake his part I am a Badger.
_Soul_. That's true; you have halfe the nature of a Badger, for one leg
is shorter then another.
_Bow_. Zounds, you Rogue, doe not you know that? Ile tell you: s'hart
and I lye, call me Jebuzite. Once as I was fighting in S. Georges
fields, and blind Cupid seeing me and taking me for some valiant
_Achilles_, he tooke his shaft and shot me right into the left heele;
and ever since _Dick Bowyer_ hath beene lame. But my heart is as sound
as a bell: heart of Oake, spirit, spirit! Lieutenant, discharge _Nod_
and let _Cricket_ stand Sentronell till I come.