_Anc._ I see your Lordship's bound, take a suppository, 'Tis I, Sir; a poor cast Flag of yours. The foolish _Tartars_ They burn and kill, and't like your honour, kill us, Kill with Guns, with Guns my Lord, with Guns, Sir. What says your Lordship to a chick in sorrel sops? _Puts._ Go, go thy ways old true-penny; Thou hast but one fault: thou art ev'n too valiant. Come, to'th' Army Gentlemen, and let's make them acquainted. _Sold._ Away, we are for ye. [_Exeunt._ SCENE IV. _Enter_ Alinda, _and two Gentlewomen_. _Alin._ Why, whither run ye Fools; will ye leave my Lady? _Petes._ The _Tartar_ comes, the _Tartar_ comes. _Alin._ Why, let him, I thought you had fear'd no men: upon my conscience You have try'd their strengths already; stay for shame. _Pet._ Shift for thy self, _Alinda_. [_Exit._ _Alin._ Beauty bless ye: Into what Grooms Feather-Bed will you creep now? And there mistake the enemy; sweet youths ye are, And of a constant courage; are you afraid of foining? _Enter_ Olympia. _Olym._ O my good Wench, what shall become of us? The Posts come hourly in, and bring new danger; The enemy is past the _Volga_, and bears hither With all the blood and cruelty he carries, My Brother now will find his fault. _Alin._ I doubt me, Somewhat too late, Madam. But pray fear not, All will be well, I hope. Sweet Madam, shake not. _Olym._ How cam'st thou by this Spirit? our Sex trembles. _Alin._ I am not unacquainted with these dangers; And you shall know my truth; for ere you perish, A hundred Swords shall pass through me: 'tis but dying, And Madam we must do it: the manner's all: You have a Princely Birth, take Princely thoughts to you, And take my counsel too; go presently, With all the haste ye have, (I will attend ye) With all the possible speed, to old Lord _Archas_, He honours ye; with all your art perswade him, ('Twill be a dismal time else) woo him hither, But hither Madam, make him see the danger; For your new General looks like an Ass; There's nothing in his face but loss. _Olym._ I'll do it. And thank thee, sweet _Alinda_: O my Jewel, How much I'm bound to love thee! by this hand, Wench, If thou wert a man-- _Alin._ I would I were to fight for you. But haste dear Madam. _Olym._ I need no Spurs _Alinda_. SCENE V. _Enter Duke, 2 Posts, Attendants, Gentlemen._ _Du._ The Lord General sick now? is this a time For men to creep into their Beds? What's become, Post, Of my Lieutenant? _Post._ Beaten, and't please your Grace, And all his Forces sparkled. _Enter a Gentleman._ _Du._ That's but cold news: How now, what good news? are the Souldiers ready?