Beaumont & Fletchers Works (2 of 10) – the Humourous Lieutenant. Beaumont Francis

and beat our brains, time may

      For all his wisdom, yet give us a day. [Exeunt.

      SCENA II

      Drum within, Alarm, Enter Demetrius, and Leontius.

      Dem. I will not see 'em fall thus, give me way Sir, I shall forget you love me else.

      Leo. Will ye lose all?

      For me to be forgotten, to be hated,

      Nay never to have been a man, is nothing,

      So you, and those we have preserv'd from slaughter

      Come safely off.

      Dem. I have lost my self.

      Leo. You are cozen'd.

      Dem. And am most miserable.

      Leo. There's no man so, but he that makes himself so.

      Dem. I will goe on.

      Leo. You must not: I shall tell you then,

      And tell you true, that man's unfit to govern,

      That cannot guide himself: you lead an Army?

      That have not so much manly suff'rance left ye,

      To bear a loss?

      Dem. Charge but once more Leontius, My friends and my companions are engag'd all.

      Leo. Nay give 'em lost, I saw 'em off their horses, And the enemy master of their Arms; nor could then The policie, nor strength of man redeem 'em.

      Dem. And shall I know this, and stand fooling?

      Leo. By my dead Fathers soul you stir not, Sir, Or if you doe, you make your way through me first.

      Dem. Thou art a Coward.

      Leo. To prevent a Madman.

      None but your Fathers Son, durst call me so,

      'Death if he did—Must I be scandal'd by ye,

      That hedg'd in all the helps I had to save ye?

      That, where there was a valiant weapon stirring,

      Both search'd it out, and singl'd it, unedg'd it,

      For fear it should bite you, am I a coward?

      Go, get ye up, and tell 'em ye are the Kings Son;

      Hang all your Ladys favours on your Crest,

      And let them fight their shares; spur to destruction,

      You cannot miss the way: be bravely desperate,

      And your young friends before ye, that lost this battel,

      Your honourable friends, that knew no order,

      Cry out, Antigonus, the old Antigonus,

      The wise and fortunate Antigonus,

      The great, the valiant, and the fear'd Antigonus,

      Has sent a desperate son, without discretion

      To bury in an hour his age of honour.

      Dem. I am ashamed.

      Leo. 'Tis ten to one, I die with ye:

      The coward will not long be after ye;

      I scorn to say I saw you fall, sigh for ye,

      And tell a whining tale, some ten years after

      To boyes and girles in an old chimney corner,

      Of what a Prince we had, how bravely spirited;

      How young and fair he fell: we'l all go with ye,

      And ye shall see us all, like sacrifices

      In our best trim, fill up the mouth of ruine.

      Will this faith satisfie your folly? can this show ye

      'Tis not to die we fear, but to die poorly,

      To fall, forgotten, in a multitude?

      If you will needs tempt fortune now she has held ye,

      Held ye from sinking up.

      Dem. Pray do not kill me, These words pierce deeper than the wounds I suffer, The smarting wounds of loss.

      Leo. Ye are too tender;

      Fortune has hours of loss, and hours of honour,

      And the most valiant feel them both: take comfort,

      The next is ours, I have a soul descries it:

      The angry bull never goes back for breath

      But when he means to arm his fury double.

      Let this day set, but not the memorie,

      And we shall find a time: How now Lieutenant?

      Enter Lieutenant.

      Lieu. I know not: I am mall'd: we are bravely beaten, All our young gallants lost.

      Leo. Thou art hurt.

      Lieu. I am pepper'd,

      I was i'th' midst of all: and bang'd of all hands:

      They made an anvile of my head, it rings yet;

      Never so thresh'd: do you call this fame? I have fam'd it;

      I have got immortal fame, but I'le no more on't;

      I'le no such scratching Saint to serve hereafter;

      O' my conscience I was kill'd above twenty times,

      And yet I know not what a Devil's in't,

      I crawled away, and lived again still; I am hurt plaguily,

      But now I have nothing near so much pain Colonel,

      They have sliced me for that maladie.

      Dem. All the young men lost?

      Lie. I am glad you are here: but they are all i'th' pound sir,

      They'l never ride o're other mens corn again, I take it,

      Such frisking, and such flaunting with their feathers,

      And such careering with their Mistres favours;

      And here must he be pricking out for honour,

      And there got he a knock, and down goes pilgarlick,

      Commends his soul to his she-saint, and Exit.

      Another spurs in there, cryes make room villains,

      I am a Lord, scarce spoken, but with reverence

      A Rascal takes him o're the face, and fells him;

      There lyes the Lord, the Lord be with him.

      Leo. Now Sir, Do you find this truth?

      Dem. I would not.

      Lieu. Pox upon it, They have such tender bodies too; such Culisses, That one good handsom blow breaks 'em a pieces.

      Leo. How stands the Enemy?

      Lieu. Even cool enough too: For to say truth he has been shrewdly heated, The Gentleman no doubt will fall to his jewlips.

      Leo. He marches not i'th' tail on's.

      Lieu. No, plague take him,

      He'l kiss our tails as soon; he looks upon us,

      As if he would say, if ye will turn again, friends,

      We will belabor you a little better,

      And beat a little more care into your coxcombs.

      Now shall we have damnable Ballads out against us,

      Most wicked madrigals: and ten to one, Colonel,

      Sung to such lowsie, lamentable tunes.

      Leo.