_Lusc._ Victorious Sir, 'Tis seldom seen in men so valiant, Minds so devoid of virtue: he that can conquer, Should ever know how to preserve his conquest, 'Tis but a base theft else. Valour's a virtue, Crown of men's actions here; yours as you make it. And can you put so rough a foyl as violence, As wronging of weak woman to your triumph? _Nor._ Let her alone. _Lusc._ I have lost my husband, Sir; You feel not that: him that I love; you care not: When fortune falls on you thus, you may grieve too: My liberty, I kneel not for; mine honor, (If ever virtuous honor toucht your heart yet) Make dear, and precious, Sir: you had a mother. _Nor._ The rougy thing speaks finely, neat, who took ye? For he must be your guard. _Lusc._ I wish no better, A noble Gentleman, and Nobly us'd me, They call'd his name _Miranda_. _Nor._ You are his then: Ye have light upon a young man worth your service, I free ye from all the rest: and from all violence; He that doth offer't, by my head he hangs for't: Goe see her safe kept, till the Noble Gentleman Be ready to dispose her: thank your tongue, You have a good one, and preserve it good still: Soldiers, come wait on me, I'll see ye paid all. [_Exeunt._ _Scæna Secunda._ _Enter_ Miranda _and_ Astorius. _Ast._ I knew ye lov'd her, virtuously ye lov'd her, Which made me make that haste: I knew ye priz'd her As all fair minds do goodness. _Mir._ Good _Astorius_, I [must] confess I do much honor her, And worthily I hope still. _Ast._ 'Tis no doubt, Sir, For on my life she is much wrong'd. _Mir._ Very likely: And I as much tormented I was absent. _Ast._ You need not fear, _Peter Gomera_'s Noble, Of a try'd faith and valour. _Mir._ This I know too: But whilst I was not there, and whilst she suffer'd; Whilst Virtue suffer'd, friend, oh how it loads me! Whilst innocence and sweetness sunk together, How cold it sits here! if my arm had fought her, My truth, though naked, stood against all treasons, My sword here grasped, Love on the edge, and Honor, And but a signal from her eye to seal it; If then she had been lost; I brag too late, And too much I decline the Noble _Peter_. Yet some poor service I would do her sweetness, Alas she needs it, my _Astorius_, The gentle Lady needs it. _Ast._ Noble spirit. _Mir._ And what [I] can: prethee bear with this weakness. Often I do not use these Womens weapons But where true pity is. I am much troubl'd, And something have to do, I cannot form yet. _Ast._ I'll take my leave, Sir, I shall but disturb ye. _Mir._ And please you for a while: and pray to fortune to smile upon this Lady. _Ast._ All my help, Sir. [_Exit._