Your son, the Prince Giovanni. See, my lords, What hopes you store in him: this is a casket For both your crowns, and should be held like dear. Now is he apt for knowledge; therefore know, It is a more direct and even way To train to virtue those of princely blood By examples than by precepts: if by examples, Whom should he rather strive to imitate Than his own father? be his pattern, then; Leave him a stock of virtue that may last, Should fortune rend his sails and split his mast. _Brach._ Your hand, boy: growing to a soldier? _Giov._ Give me a pike. _Fran. de Med._ What, practising your pike so young, fair cuz? _Giov._ Suppose me one of Homer's frogs, my lord, Tossing my bullrush thus. Pray, sir, tell me, Might not a child of good discretion Be leader to an army? _Fran. de Med._ Yes, cousin, a young prince Of good discretion might. _Giov._ Say you so? Indeed, I have heard, 'tis fit a general Should not endanger his own person oft; So that he make a noise when he's o' horseback, Like a Dansk[34] drummer,--O, 'tis excellent!-- He need not fight:--methinks his horse as well Might lead an army for him. If I live, I'll charge the French foe in the very front Of all my troops, the foremost man. _Fran. de Med._ What, what! _Giov._ And will not bid my soldiers up and follow, But bid them follow me. _Brach._ Forward, lapwing! He flies with the shell on's head.[35] _Fran. de Med._ Pretty cousin! _Giov._ The first year, uncle, that I go to war, All prisoners that I take I will set free Without their ransom. _Fran. de Med._ Ha, without their ransom! How, then, will you reward your soldiers That took those prisoners for you? _Giov._ Thus, my lord; I'll marry them to all the wealthy widows That fall that year. _Fran. de Med._ Why, then, the next year following, You'll have no men to go with you to war. _Giov._ Why, then, I'll press the women to the war, And then the men will follow. _Mont._ Witty prince! _Fran. de Med._ See, a good habit makes a child a man, Whereas a bad one makes a man a beast. Come, you and I are friends. _Brach._ Most wishedly; Like bones which, broke in sunder, and well set, Knit the more strongly. _Fran. de Med._ Call Camillo hither. [_Exit_ MARCELLO. You have received the rumour, how Count Lodowick Is turned a pirate? _Brach._ Yes. _Fran. de Med._ We are now preparing Some ships to fetch him in. Behold your duchess. We now will leave you, and expect from you Nothing but kind entreaty. _Brach._ You have charmed me. [_Exeunt_ FRANCISCO DE MEDICIS, MONTICELSO, _and_ GIOVANNI. FLAMINEO _retires._ _Re-enter_ ISABELLA. You are in health, we see. _Isab._ And above health, To see my lord well. _Brach._ So. I wonder much What amorous whirlwind hurried you to Rome. _Isab._ Devotion, my lord. _Brach._ Devotion! Is your soul charged with any grievous sin?