_Capt._ Not for reward, but loue to that braue Prince, Whose memorie deserues to out-liue time, Come I to tell what I too truely know; In the Lepanthean battel not long since, Where he was made Commander of a Fleet, Vnder Don _Iohn_ the Spanish Generall, He did demeane himselfe so manfully, That he perfom’d wonders aboue beliefe; For when the Nauies ioyn’d, the Cannons plaid, And thundring clamors rang the dying knels Of many thousand soules; He, void of feare, Dalli’d with danger, and pursu’d the Foe Thorow a bloudy Sea of Victorie: Whether there slaine, or taken prisoner By the too mercilesse misbeleeuing Turkes, No man can tell: That when Victorie fell to the Christians, The conquest, and the glorie of the day Was soone eclipst, in braue _Lorenzo’s_ losse; That when the battel and the fight was done, They knew not well whether they lost or wonne. _Attic._ This newes is worse then death; Happy were I If any now could tell me he were dead; Death is farre sweeter then captiuitie: My deare _Lorenzo_! Was it thy desire To goe to Warre, made thee forsake thy Father, Countrie, Friends, Life, Libertie? and vndergoe Death, or Captiuitie, or some disaster That exceeds ’em both? Yet, howso’er, Captaine, We thanke thy loue; giue the reward Was promis’d in the Proclamation. _Capt._ I’le not be nice in the refusall, Sir, It is no wonder t’see a Souldier want: All good wait on yee; may the Heauens be pleas’d To make you happy in your long lost sonne. _Attic._ My comfort is, whether aliue or dead, He brauely fought for Heauen and Christendome; Such battels martyr men: their death’s a life Suruiuing all this worlds felicitie. Lords, Where’s _Leonida_, Our beautious child, She’s all the comfort we haue left Vs now; She must not haue her libertie to match, The Girle is wanton, coy, and fickle too: How many Princes hath the froward Elfe Set at debate, desiring but her loue? What dangers may insue? But to preuent, _Nicanor_, wee make you her Gardian: Let her be Princely vs’d; but no accesse By any to her presence, but by such As wee shall send, or giue commandment for: ’Tis death to any other dares attempt it. I heare, the Prince of Naples seekes her loue: Shee shall not wed with that presumptuous Boy, His father and Our selfe were still at oddes, Nor shall He thinke Wee will submit to Him. Certaine he knowes not of _Lisandro’s_ sute, For if he had, he would a come himselfe, Or sent Ambassadors to speake for him. We’le giue his answer ere to morrows Sunne Shall retch to his Meridian, wretched state of Kings, What end will follow where such woes begins? _Nic._ Scanfardoe? _Exeunt omnes._ _Scan._ My good Lord? _Manet Nic. & Scanfardoe._