_Mir. Gomera_'s old and stiff: and he may lose her, The winter of his years and wounds upon him: And yet he has done bravely hitherto; _Mountferrat_'s fury, in his heat of Summer, The whistling of his Sword like angry storms, Renting up life by th' roots, I have seen him scale As if a Falcon had run up a train, Clashing his warlike pinions, his steel'd Curasse, And at his pitch inmew the Town below him. I must doe something. _Enter_ Collonna. _Col._ Noble Sir, for Heaven sake Take pity of a poor afflicted _Christian_ Redeem'd from one affliction to another. _Mir._ Boldly you ask that, we are bound to give it. From what affliction, Sir? _Col._ From cold, and hunger; From nakedness and stripes. _Mir._ A prisoner? _Col._ A slave, Sir, in the _Turkish_ prize, new taken; That in the heat of fight, when your brave hand Brought the _Dane_ succor, got my irons off, And put my self to mercy of the Ocean. _M[i]r._ And swom to Land? _Col._ I did Sir, Heaven was gracious; But now a stranger, and my wants upon me, Though willingly I would preserve this life, Sir, With honesty and truth I am not look'd on; The hand of pity that should give for heaven sake, And charitable hearts are grown so cold, Sir, Never remembring what their fortunes may be. _Mir._ Thou say'st too true: of what profession art thou? _Col._ I have been better train'd; and can serve truly, Where trust is laid upon me. _Mir._ A handsome fellow; Hast thou e'r bore Arms? _Col._ I have trod full many a march, Sir, And some hurts have to shew: before me too, Sir. _Mir._ Pity this thing should starve, or, forced for want, Come to a worse end. I know not what thou mayst be. But if thou thinkst it fit to be a servant, I'll be a Master, and a good one to thee, If ye deserve, Sir. _Col._ Else I ask no favour. _Mir._ Then Sir, to try your trust, because I like you, Go to the _Dane_, of him receive a woman, A _Turkish_ prisoner, for me receive her, I hear she is my prize, look fairly to her, For I would have her know, though now my prisoner, The _Christians_ need no Schoolmasters for honor. Take this to buy thee clothes, this Ring, to help thee Into the fellowship of my house: ye are a stranger, And my servants will not know ye else; there keep her, And with all modesty preserve your service. _Col._ A foul example find me else: Heaven thank ye. Of Captain _Norandine_? _Mir._ The same. _Col._ 'Tis done, Sir: And may Heavens goodness ever dwell about ye. _Mir._ Wait there till I come home. _Col._ I shall not fail, Sir. [_Exeunt._ _Scæna Tertia._ _Enter_ Mountferrat _with a Letter, and_ Abdella.