_Sil._ Except the trial of my soul to mischief, And as I am a Knight, and love mine honor, I grant it whatsoever. _Bel._ Thy pure soul Shall never sink for me, nor howl. _Sil._ Then any thing. _Bel._ When I shall ask, remember. _Sil._ If I forget, heavens goodness forget me. _Bel._ On thy journey then awhile, to the next cross way and stile, I'll conduct thee, keep thee true, to thy Mistriss and thy vow, And let all their envies fall, I'll be with thee, and quench all. [_Exeunt._ _Actus Quintus. Scæna Prima._ _Enter Dutchess_, Syenna, _and Lords_. _Sy._ Lady, the stubborn war's more mild than you are, That allows Ransom, and the Prisoner taken-- _Dutch._ We must not be too hasty: Remember Sir, The wrong and violence you have offer'd us, Burnt up our frontier Towns, made prey before ye Both of our Beasts, and Corn; slain our dear subjects, Open'd the fountain eyes of thousand widows, That daily fling their curses on your fury; What ordinary satisfaction can salve this? What hasty thought-on Ransome give a remedy? You must excuse us yet, we'll take more counsel: In the mean time, not as a prisoner, But as a noble Prince we entertain ye. _Sy._ I am at your mercy Lady, 'tis my fortune, My stubborn fate; the day is yours, you have me, The valour of one single man has cross'd me, Crost me and all my hope; for when the Battel's Were at the hottest game of all their furies, And conquest ready then to crown me Victor, One single man broke in, one sword, one vertue, And by his great example thousands followed, Oh how I shame to think on't, how it shakes me! Nor could our strongest head then stop his fury, But like a tempest [']bore the field before him, Till he arriv'd at me, with me he buck'lled, A while I held him play; at length his violence Beat me from my saddle, then on foot pursu'd me, There triumph'd once again, then took me prisoner: When I was gone, a fear possest my people. _Dutch._ One single arm, in a just cause, heaven prospers. Is not this stranger Knight as yet discover'd, That we may give his virtue a due honor? _Lord._ Not yet that we hear Madam, but to that purpose, Two daies ago we publish'd Proclamations. _Enter_ Soto _with a [T]rumpet, and_ Silvio. _Soto._ Oh dainty Dutchess, here I bring that Knight Before thy fragrant face, that warlike wight, He that _Syenna's_ Duke, and all his Louts Beat (as the Proverb seemly saies) to clouts: He that unhors'd the man o' fame to boot, And bootless taught his Grace to walk afoot: He that your writings (pack'd to every pillar) Promis'd promotion to, and store of siller, That very man I set before thy Grace, And once again pronounce, this man it was.