Mach. And must, my lord, find undelay'd release?
Noble commanders, since that war's grim god,
After our sacrifice of many lives,
Neglects our offerings, and repays our service
With loss; 'tis good to deal with policy.
He's no true soldier, that deals heedless blows
With the endangering of his life; and may
Walk in a shade of safety, yet o'erthrow
His towering enemy.
Great Alexander made the then known world
Slave to his powerful will more by the help
Of politic wit
Than by the rough compulsion of the sword.
Troy, that endur'd the Grecians ten years' siege,
By policy was fir'd, and became like to
A lofty beacon all on flame.
Gov. Hum, hum!
Mach. Suppose the French be mark'd for conquerors?
Stars have been cross'd, when at a natural birth
They dart prodigious beams; their influence,
Like to the flame of a new-lighted taper,
Has with the breath of policy been blown
Out,—even to nothing.
Ful. Hum, hum!
Aler. This has been studied.
[Aside.]
Pan. He's almost out.
[Aside.]
Gov. Good.
But to the matter. You counsel?
Mach. 'Tis this, my lord,
That straight, before the French have pitched their tents,
Or rais'd a work before our city walls—
As yet their ships have not o'erspread the sea—
We send a regiment, that may with speed
Land on the marshes, and begirt their backs,
Whilst we open our gates, and with a strong assault
Force 'em retreat into the arms of death:
So the revengeful earth shall be their tomb,
That did erewhile trample her teeming womb.