_Ger_. Sir, we have gain’d the Army on our side. _Ors_. What’s that? _Ger_. Those Numbers that I told you should adore you. _Ors_. When shall I see them, _Geron_? _Ger_. E’er long, Sir: should your Deliverance Be wrought by any other Means than theirs, It were to snatch a Glory from their Hands, Which they design their only Recompence. _Ors_. Oh, how I am transported with the Joy! But, _Geron_, art thou sure we do not dream? _Ger_. Then Life it self’s a Dream-- Hark, I hear a noise-- [_Noise_. _Within_] Kill the Dog--down with him! _Ors_. Oh, how I’m ravisht with this unknown Noise! _Within_.] Break down the Prison-Walls and Gates, and force your Passage-- _Enter_ Vallentio, _followed by_ Gorel _and a Rabble of Citizens and Officers, tearing in the Keeper all bloody_. _Val_. No killing to day, my Fellow-Soldiers, if you can help it; we will not stain our Triumphs in Blood-- [_They all stand and gaze_. Ors. _gazes on them_. Ye Gods, instruct me where to bow my Knee-- But this alone must be the Deity-- [_Kneels_, Ors. _lets him kneel, and gazes on him_. _1 Cit_. Is that the King, Neighbour, in such mean Clothes? _Gorel_. Yes, Goodman Fool, why should the Colonel kneel else? _2 Cit_. Oh, pray, Neighbour, let me see a little, I never saw a King in all the days of my Life. Lord, Lord! Is that he the Colonel kneels to? _Gorel_. What Questions this ignorant Fellow asks! _3 Cit_. Good lack-a-day, ‘tis as a Man may say--’tis just such another Body as one of us, only he looks a little more terrably. _Ger_. Sir, why do you let him kneel? _Ors_. Rise, and let me look upon thee. _Val_. Great Sir, we come to offer you a Crown, That long has waited for this great Support; It ought to have been presented in a more glorious order, But Time and your Affairs permit not that. A thousand Dangers wait upon Delay; But though the World be yours, it is not safe Depending on a fickle Multitude, Whom Interest, and not Reason renders just. _Ors_. Thou art a wondrous Man. _1 Cit_. Good _Gorel_, stand back, and let me see a little; my Wife loves Newalties abominationly, ami I must tell her something about the King. _Gorel_. What a Pox have we to do with your Wife? stand back. _Val_. Now deign, great Sir, to arm your Hand with this-- [_Gtves_ Ors. _a Sword, he gazes on it_. Nay, view it well, for though it be but homely, It carries that about it can make the Wearer proud; --An Edge--pray feel it, Sir,--’t has dealt Many a mortal Wound-- See how it dares the Sun for Brightness, Sir! Or if there be a Stain, it is an Ornament, Dy’d in the Blood of those that were your Enemies: It never made a Blow or Thrust in vain. --How do you like it, Sir?