_Gonz._ We have them yet, though they cost us dear. This was Charged home, and bravely follow'd. Be to yourselves [_To_ JACOMO _and_ RODERIGO. True mirrors to each other's worth; and, looking With noble emulation on his wounds, [Points to BERT. The glorious livery of triumphant war, Imagine these with equal grace appear Upon yourselves. The bloody sweat you have suffer'd In this laborious, nay, toilsome harvest, Yields a rich crop of conquest; and the spoil, Most precious balsam to a soldier's hurts, Will ease and cure them. Let me look upon [GASPARO _and_ ANTONIO _are brought forward_. The prisoners' faces. Oh, how much transform'd From what they were! O Mars! were these toys fashion'd To undergo the burthen of thy service? The weight of their defensive armour bruised Their weak effeminate limbs, and would have forced them, In a hot day, without a blow to yield. _Ant._ This insultation shows not manly in you. _Gonz._ To men I had forborne it; you are women, Or, at the best, loose carpet-knights[156]. What fury Seduced you to exchange your ease in court For labour in the field? Perhaps you thought To charge, through dust and blood, an armed foe, Was but like graceful running at the ring For a wanton mistress' glove; and the encounter, A soft impression on her lips:--but you Are gaudy butterflies, and I wrong myself In parling with you. _Gasp._ _Voe victis!_ now we prove it. _Rod._ But here's one fashion'd in another mould, And made of tougher metal. _Gonz._ True; I owe him For this wound bravely given. _Bert._ O that mountains Were heap'd upon me, that I might expire, A wretch no more remember'd! [_Aside._ _Gonz._ Look up, sir; To be o'ercome deserves no shame. If you Had fallen ingloriously, or could accuse Your want of courage in resistance, 'twere To be lamented: but, since you perform'd As much as could be hoped for from a man, (Fortune his enemy,) you wrong yourself In this dejection. I am honour'd in My victory over you; but to have these My prisoners, is, in my true judgment, rather Captivity than a triumph: you shall find Fair quarter from me, and your many wounds, Which I hope are not mortal, with such care Look'd to and cured, as if your nearest friend Attended on you. _Bert._ When you know me better, You will make void this promise: can you call me Into your memory? _Gonz._ The brave Bertoldo! A brother of our order! By St. John, Our holy patron, I am more amazed, Nay, thunderstruck with thy apostacy, And precipice from the most solemn vows Made unto Heaven when this, the glorious badge Of our Redeemer, was conferred upon thee By the great master, than if I had seen A reprobate Jew, an atheist, Turk, or Tartar, Baptized in our religion! _Bert._ This I look'd for; And am resolved to suffer.