Org. I humbly beg your Majesty’s consent to’t,
If you believe Alcippus worthy of it;
The generous Youth I have bred up to Battles,
Taught him to overcome, and use that Conquest
As modestly as his submissive Captive,
His Melancholy, (but his easy Fetters)
To meet Death’s Horrors with undaunted looks:
How to despise the Hardships of a Siege;
To suffer Cold and Hunger, want of Sleep.
Nor knew he other rest than on his Horse-back,
Where he would sit and take a hearty Nap;
And then too dreamt of fighting.
I could continue on a day in telling
The Wonders of this Warrior.
King. I credit all, and do submit to you. But yet Alcippus seems displeas’d with it.
Alcip. Ah, Sir! too late I find my Confidence
Has overcome my unhappy Bashfulness;
I had an humbler Suit to approach you with;
But this unlook’d for Honour
Has soon confounded all my lesser aims,
As were they not essential to my Being,
I durst not name them after what y’have done.
King. It is not well to think my Kindness limited;
This, from the Prince you hold, the next from me;
Be what it will, I here declare it thine.
—Upon my life, designs upon a Lady;
I guess it from thy blushing.
—Name her, and here thy King engages for her.
Phi. O Gods!—What have I done? [Aside.
Alcip. Erminia, Sir.— [Bows.
Phi. I’m ruin’d.— [Aside.
King. Alcippus, with her Father’s leave, she’s thine.
Org. Sir, ‘tis my Aim and Honour.
Phi. Alcippus, is’t a time to think of Weddings, When the disorder’d Troops require your Presence? You must to the Camp to morrow.