Go call the Surgeons Soldiers: wondrous nobly
Upon my life, I have not seen such valour,
Maintained so long, and to so large a ruine,
The odds so strong against ye.
_Nor._ I thank ye,
And thank ye for your help, your timely succor.
By th'mass, it came i' th' nick Sir, and well handled;
Stoutly, and strongly handled: we had duckt else,
My _Turk_ had _Turk'd_ me else: but he has well paid for't.
Why what a Sign for an Almanack h'as made me!
_Enter_ Astorius.
_Ast._ I am glad to find ye here Sir, of necessity,
I must have come aboard else; and brave Captain
We all joy much in your fair victory,
And all the Island speaks your valour nobly.
Have ye brought the _Turk_ in, that ye took?
_Mir._ He rides there.
_Nor._ If he were out again, the devil should bring him.
H'as truly circumcis'd me.
_Ast._ I have a business
Which much concerns ye, presently concerns ye;
But not this place nor people: pray ye draw off, Sir,
For 'tis of that weight to ye.
_Mir._ I'll wait on ye,
I must crave leave awhile: my care dwels with ye,
And I must wait my self.
_Nor._ Your servant, Sir.
_Mir._ Believe I shall, and what my love can minister;
Keep your stout heart still.
_Nor._ That's my best Physitian.
_Mir._ And I shall keep your fame fair. [_Exit._
_Nor._ Ye are too Noble.
A brave young fellow of a matchless spirit;
He brought me off like thunder, charg'd, and boarded,
As if he had been shot to save mine honor:
And when my fainting men, tyr'd with their labour,
And lack of bloud, gave to the _Turk_ assurance
The day was his; when I was cut in shreds thus,
And not a corn of Powder left to bless us;
Then flew his Sword in, then his Cannon roar'd,
And let flie bloud and death and storms amongst 'em.
Then might I hear their sleepy Prophet howl too,
And all their _silver Crescents_ then I saw
Like falling Meteors spent, and set for ever
Under the Cross of _Malta_; death so wanton
I never lookt upon, so full of revel.
_Enter_ Surgeon.
I will not be drest yet: Methought that fellow
Was fit for no conversation, nor no _Christian_
That had not halfe his brain's knockt out, no Soldier.
Oh valiant young man, how I love thy virtue.
_1 Sold._ Pray ye Sir be drest, alas ye bleed apace yet.
_Nor._ 'Tis but the sweat of honor (alas) thou milksop,
Thou man of March-pain, canst thou fear to see
A few light hurts, that blush they are no bigger,
A few small scratches? get ye a Cawdle, Sirrah,
Your finger akes, and let the old wives watch thee:
Bring in the booty: and the prisoners;
By heaven I'll see 'em, and dispose 'em first,
Before I have a drop of blood wip'd from me, goe. [_Exeunt Soldiers._
_Surg._ You'll faint Sir.
_Nor._ No, ye lie, Sir, like an Ass, Sir;
I have no such pigs hurt in my belly.
_Sur._ By my life Captain
These hurts are not to be jested with.
_Nor._ If thou hadst 'em:
They are my companions fool, my family;
I cannot eat nor sleep without their company,
Dost take me for _St. Davy_, that fell dead
With seeing of his nose bleed?
_Enter Soldiers with booty._
_Sur._ Here they come, Sir:
But would you would be drest.
_Nor._ Pox: dress thy self first.
Thou faint'st a great deal faster: what's all this?
_1 Sold._ The money and the merchandize ye took Sir.
_Nor._ A goodly purchase; Is it for this we venture
Our liberties and lives? what can all this do?
Get me some dozen surfeits, some seven fresh whores,
And twenty pot-Allies; and then I am virtuous.
Lay the Knights part by, and that to pay the Soldier:
This is mine own, I think I have deserv'd it:
Come, now look to me, and grope me like a Chambermaid,
I'll neither start nor squeak; what's that i' th' Trusse there?
_2 Sold._ 'Tis cloth of Tissue, Sir, and this is Scarlet.
_Nor._ I shall look redder shortly then, I fear me,
And as a Captain ought, a great deal prouder.
Can ye cure me of that crack, Surgeon?
_Sur._ Yes, when your Suit's at pawn, Sir.
_Nor._ There's for your plaister.
A very learned Surgeon: what's in that pack there?
_1 Sold._ 'Tis _English_ Cloth.
_Nor._ That's a good wear indeed,
Both strong, and rich: but it has a virtue
A twang of the own Countrey, that spoils all:
A man shall ne'r be sober in't: Where are the Gentlemen,
That ventur'd with me, both their lives and fortunes?
Come forward my fair spirits; _Norandine_
Forgets his worth, when he forgets your valours,
You have lost an eye, I saw ye face all hazards:
You have one left yet, to choose your Mistriss.
You have your leg broke with a shot; yet sitting,
I saw you make the place good with your Pike still.
And your hand's gone; a good heart wants no instruments;
Share that amongst ye, there's an eye, an arm,
And that will bear you up, when your legs cannot.
Oh, where's the honest Sailor? that poor fellow,
Indeed that bold brave fellow, that with his Musket
Taught them new ways how to put their caps off;
That stood the fire of all the fight, twice blown,
And twice I gave him drown'd; welcome ashore knave;
Give me thy hand, if they be not both lost: faith thou art welcome,
My tough knave welcome: thou wilt not shrink i' th' washing.
Hold, there's a piece of Scarlet, get thee handsom.
And this to buy thee buttons.
_Sail._ Thank ye Captain.
Command my life at all hours.
_Nor._ Thou durst give it.
You have deserv'd too.
_3 Sold._ We have seen the fight Sir.
_Nor._ Yes: coil'd up in a Cable, like salt Eels,
Or buried low i' th' ballast, do you call that fighting?
Where be your wounds? your knocks? your want of limbs rogues?
Art not thou he that ask'd the Master-gunner
Where thou mightst lie safest? and he strait answered,
Put thy head in that hole, new bor'd with a Cannon;
For 'twas an hundred to one, another shot would not hit there:
Your wages you shall have, but for rewards
Take your own waies: and get ye to the Taverns;
There, when ye are hot with Wine, 'mongst your admirers,
Take Ships, and Towns, and Castles at your pleasures,
And make the Great _Turk_ shake at your valors.
Bring in the prisoners now, my brave Musslemen.
_Enter Prisoners, and_ Luscinda.
You that are Lords o' th' Sea, and scorn us _Christians_,
Which of your mangy lives is worth this hurt here?
Away to prison with 'em, see 'em safe;
You shall find we have Gallies too, and slaves too.
_1 Sold._ What shall be done with this woman, Sir?
_Nor._ Pox take her,
'Twas she that set me on to fight with these rogues,
That Ring-worm, rot it: what can you do now
With all your paintings, and your pouncings, Lady,
To restore my blood again? you, and your _Cupid_
That have made a Carbinado of me, plague take ye,
Ye are too deep ye rogue, this is thy work woman,
Thou lousie woman; 'death, you goe too deep still.
The seeing of your simpring sweetness: ---- ye Filly,
Ye Tit, ye Tomboy, what can one nights gingling,
Or two, or ten, sweet heart, and oh my dear chicken,
Scratching my head, or fumbling with my fore-mast,
Doe me good now? ye have powder'd me for one year,
I am in souce I thank ye; thank your beauty,
Your most sweet beauty: pox upon those goggles.
We cannot fight like honest men, for honor,
And quietly kill one another as we ought,
But in steps one of you; the devils holiness
And you must have a daunce: away with her,
She stinks to me now.
_1 Sold._ Shall I have her Captain?
_2 Sold._ Or I?
_3 Sold._ I'll marry her.
_4 Sold._ Good Captain, I.
_3 Sold._ And make her a good _Christian_; lay hands off her;
I know she's mine.
_2 Sold._ I'll give my full share for her: have ye no manners;
To thrust the woman so?
_Nor._ Share her among ye;
And may she give ye as many hurts as I have,
And twice as many aches.
_Lusc._ Noble Captain,
Be pleas'd to free me from these Soldiers wildness,
Till I but speak two words.
_Nor._ Now for your Maidenhead,
You have your book, proceed.
_Lusc._ Victorious Sir,
'Tis seldom seen in men so valiant,
Minds so devoid of virtue: he that can conquer,
Should ever know how to preserve his conquest,
'Tis but a base theft else. Valour's a virtue,
Crown of men's actions here; yours as you make it.
And can you put so rough a foyl as violence,
As wronging of weak woman to your triumph?
_Nor._ Let her alone.
_Lusc._ I have lost my husband, Sir;
You feel not that: him that I love; you care not:
When fortune falls on you thus, you may grieve too:
My liberty, I kneel not for; mine honor,
(If ever virtuous honor toucht your heart yet)
Make dear, and precious, Sir: you had a mother.
_Nor._ The rougy thing speaks finely, neat, who took ye?
For he must be your guard.
_Lusc._ I wish no better,
A noble Gentleman, and Nobly us'd me,
They call'd his name _Miranda_.
_Nor._ You are his then:
Ye have light upon a young man worth your service,
I free ye from all the rest: and from all violence;
He that doth offer't, by my head he hangs for't:
Goe see her safe kept, till the Noble Gentleman
Be ready to dispose her: thank your tongue,
You have a good one, and preserve it good still:
Soldiers, come wait on me, I'll see ye paid all. [_Exeunt._
_Scæna Secunda._
_Enter_ Miranda _and_ Astorius.
_Ast._ I knew ye lov'd her, virtuously ye lov'd her,
Which made me make that haste: I knew ye priz'd her
As all fair minds do goodness.
_Mir._ Good _Astorius_,
I [must] confess I do much honor her,
And worthily I hope still.
_Ast._ 'Tis no doubt, Sir,
For on my life she is much wrong'd.
_Mir._ Very likely:
And I as much tormented I was absent.
_Ast._ You need not fear, _Peter Gomera_'s Noble,
Of a try'd faith and valour.
_Mir._ This I know too:
But whilst I was not there, and whilst she suffer'd;
Whilst Virtue suffer'd, friend, oh how it loads me!
Whilst innocence and sweetness sunk together,
How cold it sits here! if my arm had fought her,
My truth, though naked, stood against all treasons,
My sword here grasped, Love on the edge, and Honor,
And but a signal from her eye to seal it;
If then she had been lost; I brag too late,
And too much I decline the Noble _Peter_.
Yet some poor service I would do her sweetness,
Alas she needs it, my _Astorius_,
The gentle Lady needs it.
_Ast._ Noble spirit.
_Mir._ And what [I] can: prethee bear with this weakness.
Often I do not use these Womens weapons
But where true pity is. I am much troubl'd,
And something have to do, I cannot form yet.
_Ast._ I'll take my leave, Sir, I shall but disturb ye.
_Mir._ And please you for a while: and pray to fortune
to smile upon this Lady.
_Ast._ All my help, Sir. [_Exit._
_Mir. Gomera_'s old and stiff: and he may lose her,
The winter of his years and wounds upon him:
And yet he has done bravely hitherto;
_Mountferrat_'s fury, in his heat of Summer,
The whistling of his Sword like angry storms,
Renting up life by th' roots, I have seen him scale
As if a Falcon had run up a train,
Clashing his warlike pinions, his steel'd Curasse,
And at his pitch inmew the Town below him.
I must doe something.
_Enter_ Collonna.
_Col._ Noble Sir, for Heaven sake
Take pity of a poor afflicted _Christian_
Redeem'd from one affliction to another.
_Mir._ Boldly you ask that, we are bound to give it.
From what affliction, Sir?
_Col._ From cold, and hunger;
From nakedness and stripes.
_Mir._ A prisoner?
_Col._ A slave, Sir, in the _Turkish_ prize, new taken;
That in the heat of fight, when your brave hand
Brought the _Dane_ succor, got my irons off,
And put my self to mercy of the Ocean.
_M[i]r._ And swom to Land?
_Col._ I did Sir, Heaven was gracious;
But now a stranger, and my wants upon me,
Though willingly I would preserve this life, Sir,
With honesty and truth I am not look'd on;
The hand of pity that should give for heaven sake,
And charitable hearts are grown so cold, Sir,
Never remembring what their fortunes may be.
_Mir._ Thou say'st too true: of what profession art thou?
_Col._ I have been better train'd; and can serve truly,
Where trust is laid upon me.
_Mir._ A handsome fellow;
Hast thou e'r bore Arms?
_Col._ I have trod full many a march, Sir,
And some hurts have to shew: before me too, Sir.
_Mir._ Pity this thing should starve, or, forced for want,
Come to a worse end. I know not what thou mayst be.
But if thou thinkst it fit to be a servant,
I'll be a Master, and a good one to thee,
If ye deserve, Sir.
_Col._ Else I ask no favour.
_Mir._ Then Sir, to try your trust, because I like you,
Go to the _Dane_, of him receive a woman,
A _Turkish_ prisoner, for me receive her,
I hear she is my prize, look fairly to her,
For I would have her know, though now my prisoner,
The _Christians_ need no Schoolmasters for honor.
Take this to buy thee clothes, this Ring, to help thee
Into the fellowship of my house: ye are a stranger,
And my servants will not know ye else; there keep her,
And with all modesty preserve your service.
_Col._ A foul example find me else: Heaven thank ye.
Of Captain _Norandine_?
_Mir._ The same.
_Col._ 'Tis done, Sir:
And may Heavens goodness ever dwell about ye.
_Mir._ Wait there till I come home.
_Col._ I shall not fail, Sir. [_Exeunt._
_Scæna Tertia._
_Enter_ Mountferrat _with a Letter, and_ Abdella.
_Abd._ 'Tis strange it should be so, that your high mettle
Should check thus poorly, dully; most unmanly.
_Mount._ Let me alone.
_Abd._ Thus leadenly?
_Mount._ ---- [t]ake ye.
_Abd._ At every childish fear? at every shadow?
Are you _Mountferrat_ that have done such deeds?
Wrought through such bloudy fields, men shake to speak of?
Can ye go back? is there a safety left yet
But fore-right? is not ruine round about ye?
Have ye not still these arms, that Sword, that heart-whole?
Is't not a man ye fight with, and an old man,
A man half kill'd already? Am not I here?
As lovely in my black to entertain thee,
As high and full of heat to meet thy pleasures?
_Mount._ I will be alone.
_Abd._ Ye shall: farewel, Sir;
And do it bravely, never think of conscience:
There is none to a man resolved; be happy. [_Exit._
_Enter_ Miranda.
_Mount._ No, most unhappy wretch as thou hast made me
More devil than thy self, I am.
_Mir._ Alone,
And troubled too, I take it: how he starts!
All is not handsome in thy heart _Mountferrat_.
God speed ye Sir, I have been seeking of ye:
They say you are to fight to day.
_Mount._ What then?
_Mir._ Nay, nothing but good fortune to your Sword, Sir.
Ye have a cause requires it, the Islands safety,
The Orders, and your Honors.
_Mount._ And do you make a question
I will not fight it Nobly?
_Mir._ Ye dare fight,
Ye have, and with as great a confidence as justice,
I have seen ye strike as home, and hit as deadly.
_Mount._ Why are these questions then?
_Mir._ I'll tell ye quickly.
Ye have a Lady in your cause, a fair one,
A gentler never trode on ground, a Nobler.
_Mount._ Do ye come on so fast? I have it for ye.
_Mir._ The Sun ne'r saw a sweeter.
_Mount._ These I grant ye:
Nor dare I against beauty heave my hand up,
It were unmanly, Sir; too much unmanly:
But when these excellencies turn to ruine,
To ruine of themselves, and those protect 'em;
When virtue's lost, lust and dishonor enter'd,
Loss of our selves and souls basely projected--
_Mir._ Do you think 'tis so?
_Mount._ Too sure.
_Mir._ And can it be?
Can it be thought _Mountferrat_, so much sweetness,
So great a Magazine of all things precious,
A mind so heavenly made, prethee observe me:
_Mount._ I thought so too: now by my Holy Order,
He that had told me, (till experience found it
Too bold a proof) this Lady had been vitious--
I wear no dull Sword Sir, nor hate I virtue.
_Mir._ Against her brother? to the man has bred her?
Her Bloud and Honor?
_Mount._ Where ambitious lust
Desires to be above the rule prescrib'd her,
Takes hold, and wins, poor chastity, cold duty,
Like fashions old forgot, she flings behind her,
And puts on bloud and mischief, death, and ruine,
To raise her new-built hopes, new faith to fasten her:
_Ma' foy_, she is as foul, as Heaven is beauteous.
_Mir._ Thou liest; thou liest _Mountferrat_: thou liest basely.
Stare not, nor swell not with thy pride: thou liest;
And this shall make it good.
_Mount._ Out with your heat first,
Ye shall be fought withal.
_M[i]r._ By ---- that Lady,
The virtue of that woman, were all the good deeds
Of all thy families, bound in one Fagot,
From _Adam_ to this hour, but with one sparkle
Would fire that wispe, and turn it to light ashes.
_Mount._ Oh pitiful young man, struck blind with beauty!
Shot with a womans smile: poor, poor _Miranda_;
Thou hopeful young man once; but now thou lost man:
Thou naked man of all that we call Noble,
How art thou cozen'd! didst thou know what I do,
And how far thy dear honor (mark me fool)
Which like a father I have kept from blasting,
Thy tender honor is abus'd: but fight first,
And then too late, thou shalt know all.
_Mir._ Thou liest, still.
_Mount._ Stay, now I'll shew thee all, and then I'll kill thee.
I love thee so dear, time shall not disgrace thee.
Read that.
_Mir._ It is her hand: it is most certain;
Good Angels keep me: that I should be her Agent
To betray _Maltha_, and bring her to the _Basha_,
That on my tender love lay all her project!
Eyes never see again, melt out for sorrow,
Did the Devil do this?
_Mount._ No, but his Dam did it,
The virtuous Lady that you love so dearly;
Come, will ye fight again?
_Mir._ No, prethee kill me:
For Heaven sake, and for goodness sake dispatch me,
For the disgrace sake that I gave thee, kill me.
_Mount._ Why, are ye guilty?
_Mir._ I have liv'd _Mountferrat_,
To see dishonor swallow up all virtue,
And now would die: by heavens eternal brightness,
I am as clear as innocence.
_Mount._ I knew it,
And therefore kept this Letter from all knowledge,
And this sword from anger, ye had died else.
And yet I lye, and basely lye.
_Mir._ O virtue!
Unspotted virtue, whither art thou vanish'd?
What hast thou left to abuse our frailties
In shape of goodness?
_Mount._ Come, take courage, man,
I have forgiven, and forgot your rashness,
And hold you fair as light in all your actions,
And by my troth I griev'd your loves; take comfort,
There be more women.
_Mir._ And more mischief in 'em.
_Mount._ The justice I shall do, to right these villanies
Shall make ye man again: I'll strike it sure, Sir.
Come, look up bravely: put this puling passion
Out of your mind; one knock for thee _Miranda_.
And for the Boy, the grave _Gomera_ gave thee,
When she accepted thee her Champion;
And in thy absence, like a valiant Gentleman,
I yet remember it: he is too young,
Too Boyish, and too tender, to adventure:
I'll give him one sound rap for that: I love thee,
Thou art a brave young spark.
_Mir._ Boy, did he call me?
_Gomera_ call me Boy?
_Mount._ It pleas'd his gravity,
To think so of ye then: they that do service,
And honest service, such as thou, and I doe,
Are either knaves, or boys.
_Mir._ Boy, by _Gomera_?
How look'd he when he said it? for _Gomera_
Was ever wont to be a virtuous Gentleman,
Humane, and sweet.
_Mount._ Yes when he will, he can be;
But let it go, I would not breed dissention;
'Tis an unfriendly office, and had it been
To any of a higher strain than you, Sir,
The well known, well approved, and lov'd _Miranda_,
I had not thought on't: 'twas hap'ly his haste too,
And zeal to her.
_Mir._ A Traitor and a Boy too?
Shame take me if I suffer't: puff: farewel love.
_Mount._ Ye know my business, I must leave ye, Sir,
My hour grows on apace.
_Mir._ I must not leave you
I dare not, nor I will not, till your goodness
Have granted me one courtesie: ye say ye love me?
_Mount._ I doe, and dearly: ask, and let that courtesie
Nothing concern mine honor.
_Mir._ You must do it,
Or you will never see me more:
_Mount._ What is it?
It shall be great that puts ye off; pray speak it.
_Mir._ Pray let me fight to day: good, dear _Mountferrat_,
Let me, and bold _Gomera_--
_Mount._ Fie _Miranda_,
Doe ye weigh my worth so little?
_Mir._ On my knees,
As ever thou hadst true touch of a sorrow
Thy friend conceiv'd, as ever honor lov'd thee.
_Mount._ Shall I turn recreant now?
_Mir._ 'Tis not thy cause,
Thou hast no reputation wounded in't,
Thine's but a general zeal: 'death: I am tainted,
The dearest twyn to life, my credit's murder'd,
Bafl'd and boy'd.
_Mount._ I am glad ye have swallow'd it,
I must confess I pity ye; and 'tis a justice,
A great one too, you should revenge these injuries:
I know it, and I know ye fit and bold to do it,
And man, as much as man may: but _Miranda_,
Why do ye kneel?
_Mir._ By ---- I'll grow to the ground here,
And with my sword dig up my grave, and fall in't
Unless thou grant me: dear _Mountferrat_, friend,
Is any thing in my power, to my life, Sir?
The honor shall be yours.
_Mount._ I love ye dearly,
Yet so much I should tender.
_Mir._ I'll preserve all:
By ---- I will: or all the sin fall with me,
Pray let me.
_Mount._ Ye have won: I'll once be coward
To pleasure you.
_Mir._ I kiss your hands, and thank ye.
_Mount._ Be tender of my credit, and fight bravely.
_Mir._ Blow not the fire that flames.
_Mount._ I'll send mine Armor,
My man shall presently attend ye with it,
For you must arm immediately, the hour calls,
I know 'twill fit ye right; be sure, and secret,
And last be fortunate; farewel: ye are fitted:
I am glad the load's off me.
_Mir._ My best _Mountferrat_. [_Exeunt._
_Scæna Quarta._
_Enter_ Norandine _and Doctor_.
_Nor._ Doctor, I will see the Combat, that's the truth on't
If I had never a leg, I would crawl to see it.
_Doct._ You are most unfit, if I might counsel ye,
Your wounds so many, and the air--
_Nor._ The Halter;
The air's as good an air, as fine an air;
Wouldst thou have me live in an Oven?
_Doct._ Beside the noise, Sir:
Which to a tender body.
_Nor._ That's it, Doctor,
My body must be cur'd withal: if you'll heal me quickly,
Boil a Drum-head in my broth: I never prosper,
With knuckles o' Veal, and birds in Sorrel sops,
Cawdles, and Cullysses; they wash me away
Like a horse had eaten grains: if thou wilt cure me,
A pickled herring, and a pottle of Sack: Doctor,
And half a dozen Trumpets.
_Doct._ Y' are a strange Gentleman.
_Nor._ As e'r thou knew'st: wilt thou give me another glister
That I may sit cleanly there like a _French_ Lady,
When she goes to a Mask at Court? where's thy hoboy?
_Doct._ I am glad ye are grown so merry.
_Nor._ Welcome Gent[l]emen.
_Enter_ Astor., _and_ Castr.
_Ast._ We come to see you, Sir; and glad we are
To see you thus, thus forward to your health, Sir.
_Nor._ I thank my Doctor here.
_Doct._ Nay, thank your self, Sir,
For by my troth, I know not how he's cur'd,
He ne'r observes any of our prescriptions.
_Nor._ Give me my Money again then, good sweet Doctor,
Wilt thou have twenty shillings a day for vexing me.
_Doct._ That shall not serve ye Sir; [_Drums afar off. A low March._
_Nor._ Th[e]n forty shall Sir,
And that will make ye speak well: hark the Drums.
_Cast._ They begin to beat to th' field: Oh noble _Dane_,
Never was such a stake, I hope of innocence
Plaid for in _Malta_, and in bloud before.
_Ast._ It makes us hang our heads all.
_Nor._ A bold villain:
If there be treason in it: accuse poor Ladies?
And yet they may do mischief too: I'll be with ye:
If she be innocent, I shall find it quickly,
And something then I'll say.
_Ast._ Come, lean on us, Sir.
_Nor._ I thank ye Gentlemen: and _Domine Doctor_,
Pray bring a little sneezing powder in your pocket,
For fear I sound when I see [bloud].
_Doct._ You are pleasant. [_Exeunt._
_Scæna Quinta._
_Enter two Marshals._
1. Are the Combatants come in? [_The Scaffold set out, and the stairs._
2. Yes.
1. Make the field clear there.
2. That's done too.
1. Then to the prisoner: the grand Master's coming,
Let's see that all be ready there.
2. Too ready.
How ceremonious our very ends are!
Alas, sweet Lady,
If she be innocent, [_Florish._
No doubt but justice will direct her Champion
Away: I hear 'em come:
1. Pray heaven she prosper.
_Enter_ Valetta, Norandine, Astor., Castriot, _&c._
_Val._ Give Captain _Norandine_ a chair.
_Nor._ I thank your Lordship.
_Val._ Sit Sir, and take your ease: your hurts require it
You come to see a womans cause decided
That's all the knowledge now, or name I have for her:
They say a false, a base, and treacherous woman,
And partly prov'd too.
_Nor._ Pity it should be so:
And if your Lordship durst ask my opinion,
Sure, I should answer no, so much I honor her:
And answer't with my life too: But _Gomera_
Is a brave Gentleman; the other valiant,
And if he be not good, dogs gnaw his flesh off,
And one above 'em both will find the truth out.
He never fails, Sir.
_Val._ That's the hope rests with me.
_Nor._ How nature and his honor struggle in him!
A sweet, clear, noble Gentleman. [_Within, make room there._
_Guard._ Make room there.
_Val._ Go up, and what you have to say, say there.
_Enter_ Oriana, Ladies, Executioner, Abdella, _and Guard_.