_Mem._ Thank your Grace, And would to God my dull tongue had that sweetness To thank you as I should; but pardon me, My sword and I speak roughly Sir: your battels I dare well say, I have fought well; for I bring ye That lazie end you wish for Peace, so fully, That no more name of war is: who now thinks Sooner or safer these might have been ended, Begin 'em if he dare again; I'le thank him. Souldier and Souldiers Mate these twenty five years, At length your General, (as one whose merit Durst look upon no less,) I have waded through Dangers would damp these soft souls, but to hear of. The maidenheads of thousand lives hang here Sir, Since which time Prince, I know no Court but Marshal, No oylie language, but the shock of Arms, No dalliance but with death; No lofty measures But weary and sad marches, cold and hunger, Larums at midnight Valours self would shake at, Yet I ne're shrunk: Balls of consuming Wildfire, That lickt men up like lightning, have I laught at, And tost 'em back again like childrens trifles. Upon the edges of my Enemies swords I have marcht like whirle-winds, fury at this hand waiting, Death at my right; Fortune my forlorn hope, When I have grapled with destruction, And tug'd with pale fac'd Ruine, Night and Mischief, Frighted to see a new day break in bloud; And every where I conquer'd; and for you Sir, Mothers have wanted wombs to make me famous, And blown ambition, dangers; Those that griev'd ye, I have taken order for i'th' earth: those fools That shall hereafter-- _King._ No more wars my Souldier: { _K. takes_ Mem. _aside We must now treat of peace Sir. { and talks with him_. _Clean._ How he talks, How gloriously. _Cal._ A goodly timber'd fellow, Valiant no doubt. _Cle._ If valour dwell in vaunting; In what a phrase he speaks, as if his actions Could be set off in nothing but a noise; Sure h'as a drum in's mouth. _Cal._ I wonder wenches How he would speak to us. _Clean._ Nothing but Larum, Tell us whose throat he cut, shew us his sword, And bless it for sure biting. _Lucippe._ And 't like your Grace, I do not think he knows us what we are, Or to what end; for I have heard his followers Affirm he never saw a woman that exceeded A Sutlers wife yet, or in execution Old bedrid Beldames without teeth or tongues, That would not flie his furie? how he looks. _Clea._ This way devoutly. _Cal._ Sure his Lordship's viewing Our Fortifications. _Lucip._ If he mount at me, I may chance choak his Battery. _Cal._ Still his eye Keeps quarter this way: _Venus_ grant his valour Be not in love. _Clean._ If he be, presently Expect a Herald and a Trumpet with ye To bid ye render; we two Perdu's pay for't else.