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.
Mr. And swom to Land?