Ant. Has Fortune but one Face?
Lieu. In her best Vizard Methinks she looks but lowzily.
Ant. Chance, though she faint now, And sink below our expectations, Is there no hope left strong enough to buoy her?
Dem. 'Tis not, this day I fled before the Enemy,
And lost my People, left mine Honour murder'd,
My maiden Honour, never to be ransom'd,
(Which to a noble Soul is too too sensible)
Afflicts me with this sadness; most of these,
Time may turn straight again, experience perfect,
And new Swords cut new ways to nobler Fortunes.
O I have lost—
Ant. As you are mine forget it: I do not think it loss.
Dem. O Sir, forgive me,
I have lost my friends, those worthy Souls bred with me,
I have lost my self, they were the pieces of me:
I have lost all Arts, my Schools are taken from me,
Honour and Arms, no emulation left me:
I liv'd to see these men lost, look'd upon it:
These men that twin'd their loves to mine, their vertues;
O shame of shames! I saw and could not save 'em,
This carries Sulphur in't, this burns, and boils me,
And like a fatal Tomb, bestrides my memory.
Ant. This was hard fortune, but if alive, and taken, They shall be ransom'd: let it be at Millions.
Dem. They are dead, they are dead.
Lieu. When wou'd he weep for me thus? I may be dead and powder'd.
Leo. Good Prince, grieve not:
We are not certain of their deaths: the Enemy,
Though he be hot, and keen,
Yet holds good Quarter.
What Noise is this?