Beaumont & Fletcher's Works (3 of 10): The Loyal Subject. Beaumont Francis

your Son manners,

      For this time I forgive him.

      Ar. Heaven forgive all;

      And to your Grace a happy and long Rule here.

      And you Lord General, may your fights be prosperous.

      In all your Course may Fame and Fortune court you.

      Fight for your Country, and your Princes safety;

      Boldly, and bravely face your Enemy,

      And when you strike, strike with that killing Vertue,

      As if a general Plague had seiz'd before ye;

      Danger, and doubt, and labour cast behind ye;

      And then come home an old and noble Story.

      Bur. A little comfort, Sir.

      Du. As little as may be:

      Farewel, you know your limit. [Ex. Duke, &c.

      Bur. Alas, brave Gentleman.

      Ar. I do, 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 thank my honesty, have stood him:

      That audit's cast; farewel my honest Souldiers,

      Give me your hands; farewel, farewel good Ancient,

      A stout man, and a true, thou art come in sorrow.

      Blessings upon your Swords, may they ne'r fail ye;

      You do 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 fury make but one face of horrour,

      When the great rest of all your honour's up,

      When you would think a Spell to shake the enemy,

      Remember me, my Prayers shall be with ye:

      So once again farewel.

      Puts. Let's wait upon ye.

      Ar. No, no, it must not be; I have now left me

      A single Fortune to my self, no more,

      Which needs no train, nor complement; good Captain,

      You are an honest and a sober Gentleman,

      And one I think has lov'd me.

      Puts. I am sure on't.

      Ar. Look to my Boy, he's grown too headstrong for me.

      And if they think him fit to carry Arms still,

      His life is theirs; I have a house i'th' Country,

      And when your better hours will give you liberty,

      See me: you shall be welcome. Fortune to ye. [Exit.

      Anc. I'll cry no more, that will do him no good,

      And 'twill but make me dry, and I have no money:

      I'll fight no more, and that will do them harm;

      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 Devil didst possess the Duke

      With these malicious thoughts; mark what I say to thee,

      A Plague upon thee, that's but the Preamble.

      Sold. O take the Pox too.

      Anc. They'll cure one another;

      I must have none but kills, and those kill stinking:

      Or look ye, let the single Pox possess them,

      Or Pox upon Pox.

      Puts. That's but ill i'th' arms, Sir.

      Anc. 'Tis worse i'th' Legs, I would not wish it else:

      And may those grow to scabs as big as Mole-hills,

      And twice a day, the Devil with a Curry-Comb

      Scratch 'em, and scrub 'em: I warrant him he has 'em.

      Sold. May he be ever lowzie.

      Anc. That's a pleasure,

      The Beggar's Lechery; sometimes the Souldiers:

      May he be ever lazie, stink where he stands,

      And Maggots breed in's Brains.

      2 Sold. I, marry Sir,

      May he fall mad in love with his Grand-mother,

      And kissing her, may her teeth drop into his mouth,

      And one fall cross his throat, then let him gargle.

Enter a Post

      Puts. Now, what's the matter?

      Post. Where's the Duke, pray, Gentlemen?

      Puts. Keep on your way, you cannot miss.

      Post. I thank ye. [Exit.

      Anc. If he be married, may he dream he's cuckol'd,

      And when he wakes believe, and swear he saw it,

      Sue a Divorce, and after find her honest:

      Then in a pleasant Pigstye, with his own garters,

      And a fine running knot, ride to the Devil.

      Puts. If these would do —

      Anc. I'll never trust my mind more,

      If all these fail.

      1 Sold. What shall we do now, Captain?

      For by this honest hand I'll be torn in pieces,

      Unless my old General go, or some that love him,

      And love us equal too, before I fight more:

      I can make a Shooe yet, and draw it on too,

      If I like the Leg well.

      Anc. Fight? 'tis likely:

      No, there will be the sport Boys, when there's need on's.

      They think the other Crown will do, will carry us,

      And the brave golden Coat of Captain Cankro

      Boroskie. What a noise his very name carries!

      'Tis Gun enough to fright a Nation,

      He needs no Souldiers; if he do, for my part,

      I promise ye he's like to seek 'em; so I think you think too,

      And all the Army; No, honest, brave old Archas,

      We cannot so soon leave thy memory,

      So soon forget thy goodness: he that does,

      The scandal and the scumm of Arms be counted.

      Puts. 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.

Enter 2 Post

      Puts. No, no, he'll find it