_Alcip_. Ah, Sir! too late I find my Confidence Has overcome my unhappy Bashfulness; I had an humbler Suit to approach you with; But this unlook’d for Honour Has soon confounded all my lesser aims, As were they not essential to my Being, I durst not name them after what y’have done. _King_. It is not well to think my Kindness limited; This, from the Prince you hold, the next from me; Be what it will, I here declare it thine. --Upon my life, designs upon a Lady; I guess it from thy blushing. --Name her, and here thy King engages for her. _Phi_. O Gods!--What have I done? [_Aside_. _Alcip_. _Erminia_, Sir.-- [_Bows_. _Phi_. I’m ruin’d.-- [_Aside_. _King_. _Alcippus_, with her Father’s leave, she’s thine. _Org_. Sir, ‘tis my Aim and Honour. _Phi. Alcippus_, is’t a time to think of Weddings, When the disorder’d Troops require your Presence? You must to the Camp to morrow. _Alcip_. You need not urge that Duty to me, Sir. _King_. A Day or two will finish that affair, And then we’ll consummate the happy Day, When all the Court shall celebrate your Joy. [_They all go out, but_ Alcan. Pisa, _and_ Fal. _Pis. Falatio_, you are a swift Horseman; I believe you have a Mistress at Court, You made such haste this Morning. _Fal_. By _Jove_, _Pisaro_, I was weary enough of the Campaign; and till I had lost sight of it, I clapt on all my Spurs-- But what ails _Alcander_? _Pis_. What, displeas’d? _Alcan_. It may be so, what then? _Pis_. Then thou mayst be pleas’d again. _Alcan_. Why the Devil should I rejoice? Because I see another rais’d above me; Let him be great, and damn’d with all his Greatness. _Pis_. Thou mean’st _Alcippus_, who I think merits it. _Alcan_. What is’t that thou cal’st Merit? He fought, it’s true, so did you, and I, And gain’d as much as he o’th’ Victory, But he in the Triumphal Chariot rode, Whilst we ador’d him like a Demi-God. He with the Prince an equal welcome found, Was with like Garlands, though less Merit, crown’d. _Fal_. He’s in the right for that, by _Jove_. _Pis_. Nay, now you wrong him. _Alcan_. What’s he I should not speak my sense of him? _Pis_. He is our General. _Alcan_. What then? What is’t that he can do, which I’ll decline? Has he more Youth, more Strength, or Arms than I? Can he preserve himself i’th’ heat of the Battle? Or can he singly fight a whole Brigade? Can he receive a thousand Wounds, and live? _Fal_. Can you or he do so? _Alcan_. I do not say I can; but tell me then, Where be the Virtues of this mighty Man, That he should brave it over all the rest? _Pis_. Faith, he has many Virtues, and much Courage; And merits it as well as you or I: _Orgulius_ was grown old. _Alcan_. What then? _Pis_. Why then he was unfit for’t, But that he had a Daughter that was young. _Alcan_. Yes, he might have lain by, Like rusty Armour, else, Had she not brought him into play again; The Devil take her for’t. _Fal_. By _Jove_, he’s dissatisfy’d with every thing.