HUMBER. Right martial be thy thoughts my noble son, And all thy words savour of chivalry.--
[Enter Segar.]
But warlike Segar, what strange accidents Makes you to leave the warding of the camp.
SEGAR. To arms, my Lord, to honourable arms! Take helm and targe in hand; the Brittains come, With greater multitude than erst the Greeks Brought to the ports of Phrygian Tenidos.
HUMBER. But what saith Segar to these accidents? What counsel gives he in extremities?
SEGAR. Why this, my Lord, experience teacheth us: That resolution is a sole help at need. And this, my Lord, our honour teacheth us: That we be bold in every enterprise. Then since there is no way but fight or die, Be resolute, my Lord, for victory.
HUMBER. And resolute, Segar, I mean to be. Perhaps some blissful star will favour us, And comfort bring to our perplexed state. Come, let us in and fortify our camp, So to withstand their strong invasion.
[Exeunt.]
ACT III. SCENE III. Before the hut of a peasant.
[Enter Strumbo, Trompart, Oliver, and his son William following them.]
STRUMBO. Nay, neighbour Oliver, if you be so what, come, prepare your self. You shall find two as stout fellows of us, as any in all the North.
OLIVER. No, by my dorth, neighbor Strumbo. Ich zee dat you are a man of small zideration, dat will zeek to injure your old vriends, one of your vamiliar guests; and derefore, zeeing your pinion is to deal withouten reazon, ich and my zon William will take dat course, dat shall be fardest vrom reason. How zay you, will you have my daughter or no?
STRUMBO. A very hard question, neighbour, but I will solve it as I may. What reason have you to demand it of me?
WILLIAM. Marry, sir, what reason had you, when my sister was in the barn, to tumble her upon the hay, and to fish her belly.
STRUMBO. Mass, thou saist true. Well, but would you have me marry her therefore? No, I scorn her, and you. Aye, I scorn you all.
OLIVER. You will not have her then?
STRUMBO. No, as I am a true gentleman.
WILLIAM. Then will we school you, ere you and we part hence.
[They fight. Enter Margery and snatch the staff out of her brother's hand, as he is fighting.]
STRUMBO. Aye, you come in pudding time, or else I had dressed them.
MARGERY. You, master saucebox, lobcock, cockscomb, you slopsauce, lickfingers, will you not hear?
STRUMBO. Who speak you to? me?
MARGERY. Aye, sir, to you, John lackhonesty, little wit. Is it you that will have none of me?
STRUMBO. No, by my troth, mistress nicebice. How fine you can nickname me. I think you were brought up in the university of bridewell; you have your rhetoric so ready at your tongue's end, as if you were never well warned when your were young.
MARGERY. Why then, goodman cods-head, if you will have none of me, farewell.
STRUMBO. If you be so plain, mistress drigle dragle, fare you well.
MARGERY. Nay, master Strumbo, ere you go from hence, we must have more words. You will have none of me?
[They both fight.]
STRUMBO. Oh my head, my head! leave, leave, leave! I will, I will, I will!
MARGERY. Upon that condition I let thee alone.
OLIVER. How now, master Strumbo? hath my daughter taught you a new lesson?
STRUMBO. Aye, but hear you, goodman Oliver; it will not be for my ease to have my head broken every day; therefore remedy this and we shall agree.
OLIVER. Well, zon, well--for you are my zon now--all shall be remedied. Daughter, be friends with him.
[Shake hands. Exeunt Oliver, William, and Margery.]
STRUMBO. You are a sweet nut! The devil crack you. Masters, I think it be my luck; my first wife was a loving quiet wench, but this, I think, would weary the devil. I would she might be burnt as my other wife was. If not, I must run to the halter for help. O codpiece, thou hast done thy master! this it is to be meddling with warm plackets.
[Exeunt.]
ACT III. SCENE IV. The camp of Locrine.
[Enter Locrine, Camber, Corineius, Thrasimachus, Assarachus.]
LOCRINE. Now am I guarded with an host of men, Whose haughty courage is invincible: Now am I hemmed with troops of soldiers, Such as might force Bellona to retire, And make her tremble at their puissance: Now sit I like the mighty god of war, When, armed with his coat of Adament, Mounted his chariot drawn with mighty bulls, He drove the Argives over Xanthus' streams: Now, cursed Humber, doth thy end draw nigh. Down goes the glory of thy victories, And all the fame, and all thy high renown Shall in a moment yield to Locrine's sword. Thy bragging banners crossed with argent streams, The ornaments of thy pavilions, Shall all be capituated with this hand, And thou thy self, at Albanactus' tomb, Shalt offered be in satisfaction Of all the wrongs thou didst him when he lived.-- But canst thou tell me, brave Thrasimachus, How far we are distant from Humber's camp?
THRASIMACHUS. My Lord, within yon foul accursed grove, That bears the tokens of our overthrow, This Humber hath intrenched his damned camp. March on, my Lord, because I long to see The treacherous Scithians squeltring in their gore.