[Exeunt.]
SCENE III. The camp of Albanact
Enter Albanact, Debon, Thrasimachus, and the Lords.
ALBA.
Brave cavalries, princes of Albany,
Whose trenchant blades with our deceased sire,
Passing the frontiers of brave Graecia,
Were bathed in our enemies’ lukewarm blood,
Now is the time to manifest your wills,
Your haughty minds and resolutions.
Now opportunity is offered
To try your courage and your earnest zeal,
Which you always protest to Albanact;
For at this time, yea, at this present time,
Stout fugitives, come from the Scithians’ bounds,
Have pestered every place with mutinies.
But trust me, Lordings, I will never cease
To persecute the rascal runnagates,
Till all the rivers, stained with their blood,
Shall fully show their fatal overthrow.
DEBON.
So shall your highness merit great renown,
And imitate your aged father’s steps.
ALBA.
But tell me, cousin, camest thou through the plains?
And sawest thou there the fain heart fugitives
Mustering their weather-beaten soldiers?
What order keep they in their marshalling?
THRASIMACHUS.
After we passed the groves of Caledone,
Where murmuring rivers slide with silent streams,
We did behold the straggling Scithians’ camp,
Replete with men, stored with munition;
There might we see the valiant minded knights
Fetching careers along the spacious plains.
Humber and Hubba armed in azure blue,
Mounted upon their coursers white as snow,
Went to behold the pleasant flowering fields;
Hector and Troialus, Priamus lovely sons,
Chasing the Graecians over Simoeis,
Were not to be compared to these two knights.
ALBA.
Well hast thou painted out in eloquence
The portraiture of Humber and his son,
As fortunate as was Policrates;
Yet should they not escape our conquering swords,
Or boast of ought but of our clemency.
Enter Strumbo and Trompart, crying often; Wild fire and pitch, wild fire and pitch, &c.
THRASIMACHUS.
What, sirs! what mean you by these clamors made,
These outcries raised in our stately court?