_1[st Soldier.]_ Who can hold lightning? Sdeath a man as well Might catch a canon bullet in his mouth, And spit it in your hands, as take and hold him. _Mail._ Pursue, enclose him! stand or fall on him, 5 And yee may take him. Sdeath! they make him guards. _Exit._ _Alarum still, and enter Chalon._ _Challon._ Stand, cowards, stand; strike, send your bullets at him. _1[st Soldier.]_ Wee came to entertaine him, sir, for honour. _2[d Soldier.]_ Did ye not say so? _Chal._ Slaves, hee is a traitor; Command the horse troopes to over-runne the traitor. _Exeunt._ 10 _Shouts within. Alarum still, and Chambers shot off. Then enter Aumall._ _Aumale._ What spirit breathes thus in this more then man, Turnes flesh to ayre possest, and in a storme Teares men about the field like autumne leaves? He turnd wilde lightning in the lackies hands, Who, though their sodaine violent twitch unhorst him, 15 Yet when he bore himselfe, their saucie fingers Flew as too hot off, as hee had beene fire. The ambush then made in, through all whose force Hee drave as if a fierce and fire-given canon Had spit his iron vomit out amongst them. 20 The battailes then in two halfe-moones enclos'd him, In which he shew'd as if he were the light, And they but earth, who, wondring what hee was, Shruncke their steele hornes and gave him glorious passe. And as a great shot from a towne besieg'd 25 At foes before it flyes forth blacke and roring, But they too farre, and that with waight opprest (As if disdaining earth) doth onely grasse, Strike earth, and up againe into the ayre, Againe sinkes to it, and againe doth rise, 30 And keepes such strength that when it softliest moves It piece-meale shivers any let it proves-- So flew brave Clermont forth, till breath forsooke him, Then fell to earth; and yet (sweet man) even then His spirits convulsions made him bound againe 35 Past all their reaches; till, all motion spent, His fixt eyes cast a blaze of such disdaine, All stood and star'd, and untouch'd let him lie, As something sacred fallen out of the skie. _A cry within._ O now some rude hand hath laid hold on him! 40 _Enter Maillard, Chalon leading Clermont, Captaines and Souldiers following._ See, prisoner led, with his bands honour'd more Then all the freedome he enjoy'd before. _Mail._ At length wee have you, sir. _Clermont._ You have much joy too; I made you sport. Yet, but I pray you tell mee, Are not you perjur'd? _Mail._ No: I swore for the King. 45 _Cler._ Yet perjurie, I hope, is perjurie.