Rom. Both with a birth shee rogues.
2 Cred. Our wiues, Sir, taught vs. [100]
Rom. Looke, looke, you slaues, your thanklesse cruelty
And sauage manners, of vnkind Dijon,
Exhaust these flouds, and not his fathers death.
1 Cred. Slid, Sir, what would yee, ye’are so cholericke?
2 Cred. Most soldiers are so yfaith, let him alone: [105]
They haue little else to liue on, we haue not had
A penny of him, haue we?
3 Cred. ’Slight, wo’d you haue our hearts?
1 Cred. We haue nothing but his body heere in durance
For all our mony.
Priest. On.
Char. One moment more,
But to bestow a few poore legacyes, [110]
All I haue left in my dead fathers rights,
And I haue done. Captaine, weare thou these spurs
That yet ne’re made his horse runne from a foe.
Lieutenant, thou, this Scarfe, and may it tye
Thy valor, and thy honestie together: [115]
For so it did in him. Ensigne, this Curace
Your Generalls necklace once. You gentle Bearers,
Deuide this purse of gold, this other, strow
Among the poore: tis all I haue. Romont,
(Weare thou this medall of himselfe) that like [120]
A hearty Oake, grew’st close to this tall Pine,
Euen in the wildest wildernese of war,
Whereon foes broke their swords, and tyr’d themselues;
Wounded and hack’d yee were, but neuer fell’d.
For me my portion prouide in Heauen: [125]
My roote is earth’d, and I a desolate branch
Left scattered in the high way of the world,
Trod vnder foot, that might haue bin a Columne,
Mainly supporting our demolish’d house,
This would I weare as my inheritance. [130]
And what hope can arise to me from it,
When I and it are both heere prisoners?
Onely may this, if euer we be free,
Keepe, or redeeme me from all infamie.
Song. Musicke.