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

      1 Gent. He comes back,

      And Lord Boroskie with him.

      Bur. There the game goes,

      I fear some new thing hatching.

      Duke. Come hither Burris.

      Go see my Sister, and commend me to her,

      And to my little Mistriss give this Token;

      Tell her I'le see her shortly.

      Bur. Yes, I shall, Sir. [Ex. Bur. and Gent.

      Duke. Wait you without: I would yet try him further.

      Bor. 'Twill not be much amiss: has your Grace heard yet

      Of what he has done i'th' Field?

      Duke. A Post but now

      Came in, who saw 'em joyn, and has delivered,

      The Enemy gave ground before he parted.

      Bor. 'Tis well.

      Duke. Come, speak thy mind man: 'tis not for fighting,

      A noise of War, I keep thee in my bosom;

      Thy ends are nearer to me; from my Childhood

      Thou brought'st me up: and like another nature,

      Made good all my necessities: speak boldly.

      Bor. Sir, what I utter, will be thought but envy

      Though I intend, high heaven knows, but your honour,

      When vain and empty people shall proclaim me —

      Good Sir excuse me.

      Duke. Do you fear me for your Enemy?

      Speak on your duty.

      Bor. Then I must, and dare, Sir:

      When he comes home, take heed the Court receive him not,

      Take heed he meet not with their loves and praises,

      That Glass will shew him ten times greater, Sir,

      (And make him strive to make good that proportion,)

      Than ere his fortune bred him, he is honourable,

      At least I strive to understand him so,

      And of a nature, if not this way poyson'd,

      Perfect enough, easie, and sweet, but those are soon seduc'd, Sir;

      He's a great man, and what that Pill may work,

      Prepar'd by general voices of the people,

      Is the end of all my Counsel, only this, Sir,

      Let him retire a while, there's more hangs by it

      Than you know yet: there if he stand a while well,

      But till the Souldier cool, whom, for their service

      You must pay now most liberally, most freely,

      And showre your self into 'em; 'tis the bounty

      They follow with their loves, and not the bravery.

      Duke. But where's the Money? how now?

      2 Gent. Sir, the Colonel,

      Son to the Lord Archas, with most happy news

      Of the Tartars overthrow, without here

      Attends your Graces pleasure.

      Bor. Be not seen, Sir,

      He's a bold fellow, let me stand his Thunders,

      To th' Court he must not come: no blessing here, Sir,

      No face of favour, if you love your honour.

      Duke. Do what you think is meetest; I'le retire, Sir. [Ex.

      Bor. Conduct him in, Sir – welcome noble Colonel.

      The. That's much from your Lordship: pray where's the Duke?

      Bor. We hear you have beat the Tartar.

      The. Is he busie, Sir?

      Bor. Have ye taken Olin yet?

      The. I would fain speak with him.

      Bor. How many men have ye lost?

      The. Do's he lye this way?

      Bor. I am sure you fought it bravely.

      The. I must see him.

      Bor. You cannot yet, ye must not, what's your Commission?

      The. No Gentleman o'th' Chamber here?

      Bor. Why, pray ye, Sir?

      Am not I fit to entertain your business?

      The. I think you are not, Sir; I am sure ye shall not.

      I bring no tales, nor flatteries: in my tongue, Sir,

      I carry no fork'd stings.

      Bor. You keep your bluntness.

      The. You are deceiv'd: it keeps me: I had felt else

      Some of your plagues ere this: but good Sir trifle not,

      I have business to the Duke.

      Bor. He's not well, Sir,

      And cannot now be spoke withal.

      The. Not well, Sir?

      How would he ha' been, if we had lost? not well, Sir?

      I bring him news to make him well: his enemy

      That would have burnt his City here, and your House too,

      Your brave gilt house, my Lord, your honours hangings,

      Where all your Ancestors, and all their Battels,

      Their silk and golden Battels are decipher'd:

      That would not only have abus'd your buildings,

      Your goodly buildings, Sir, and have drunk dry your butteries,

      Purloin'd your Lordships Plate, the Duke bestow'd on you,

      For turning handsomly o'th' toe, and trim'd your Virgins,

      Trim'd 'em of a new cut, and't like your Lordship,

      'Tis ten to one, your Wife too, and the curse is

      You had had no remedy against these Rascals,

      No Law, and't like your Honour; would have kill'd you too

      And roasted ye, and eaten ye, ere this time:

      Notable Knaves my Lord, unruly Rascals:

      These youths have we ty'd up, put muzzels on 'em,

      And par'd their Nails, that honest civil Gentlemen,

      And such most noble persons as your self is,

      May live in peace, and rule the land with a twine thread.

      These news I bring.

      Bor. And were they thus deliver'd ye?

      The. My Lord, I am no pen-man, nor no Orator,

      My tongue was never Oyl'd with Here and't like ye,

      There I beseech ye, weigh, I am a Souldier,

      And