3 Cit. Good lack-a-day, ‘tis as a Man may say—’tis just such another Body as one of us, only he looks a little more terrably.
Ger. Sir, why do you let him kneel?
Ors. Rise, and let me look upon thee.
Val. Great Sir, we come to offer you a Crown,
That long has waited for this great Support;
It ought to have been presented in a more glorious order,
But Time and your Affairs permit not that.
A thousand Dangers wait upon Delay;
But though the World be yours, it is not safe
Depending on a fickle Multitude,
Whom Interest, and not Reason renders just.
Ors. Thou art a wondrous Man.
1 Cit. Good Gorel, stand back, and let me see a little; my Wife loves Newalties abominationly, ami I must tell her something about the King.
Gorel. What a Pox have we to do with your Wife? stand back.
Val. Now deign, great Sir, to arm your Hand with this—
[Gtves Ors. a Sword, he gazes on it.
Nay, view it well, for though it be but homely,
It carries that about it can make the Wearer proud;
—An Edge—pray feel it, Sir,—’t has dealt
Many a mortal Wound—
See how it dares the Sun for Brightness, Sir!
Or if there be a Stain, it is an Ornament,
Dy’d in the Blood of those that were your Enemies:
It never made a Blow or Thrust in vain.
—How do you like it, Sir?
Ors. So well, I know not whether this or thee
Be most agreeable to me;
You need not teach me how I am to use it,
That I will leave for those that dare offend me.
Look, Geron, is it not a glorious Object?
There’s nothing but my bright Olympia’s Eyes
That can out-glitter this.
1 Cit. Hah, Simon, did he not talk bravely?