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ELEAz. How ! thus:– Steal from the heat of that incestuous blood, Where ravish'd honour and Philippo lies 1 Leave him divide this huge and monstrous body Of armed Spaniards into limbs thus big Part man from man, send every soldier home ! I'll do the like: peace, with an olive branch, Shall fly with dove-like wings about all Spain; The crown, which I as a good husband keep, I will lay down upon the empty chair; Marry you the queen, and fill it! for my part, These knees are yours, sir. CARD. Is this sound? Eleaz. From my heart! CARD. If you prove false Eleaz. If I do, let fire fall— CARD. Amen. Eleaz. [Aside.] Upon thy head; and so it shall. CARD. All of myself is yours; soldiers, begone! Eleaz. And that way you. [To the Moors. CARD. The rest I will divide: The lords shall be convented. Eleaz. Good. CARD. Let's meet. Q. Mo. Where 7 Eleaz. Here anon; (aside] this is thy winding-sheet. [The Moor walks up and down musing. [Erit Cardinal. Q. Mo. What shape will this prodigious womb bring forth,
Which groans with such strange labour?
[Ereunt. SCENE W. Enter CARDINAL at one door; PHILIPPo half armed, and two Sold IERs following him with the rest of the armour; the CARDINAL seeing him turns back again. PHIL. Sirrah! you, cardinall coward 1 run-away! Soho, hol what, cardinal | CARD. I am not for your lure. [Erit. PHIL. For that then; [Throws his sword after him.] O that it had nail'd thy heart Up to the pommel to the earth ! come, arm me ! Ha! s'foot! when all our swords were royally gilt with blood,— When with red sweat, that trickled from our wounds, We had dearly earn’d a victory—when hell Had from their hinges heav'd off her iron gates, To bid the damn"d Moor and the devils enter, Then to lose all, then to sound base retreat; Why, soldiers, hah 1 Sold. I am glad of it, my lord. PHIL. Hah! glad! art glad I am dishonoured ? That thou and he dishonoured ? 1 Sold. Why, my lord, I am glad that you so cleanly did come off. PHIL. Thou hast a lean face and a carrion heart; A plague on him and thee too! then—s'heart! then To crack the very heart-strings of our army— To quarter it in pieces—I could tear my hair, And in cursing spend my soul;
Cardinal! what, Judas! come, we'll fight Till there be left but one : if I be he, I'll die a glorious death. 1 Sold. So will I, I hope, in my bed. 2 Sold. Till there be but one left, my lord ' Why that's now ; for all our fellows are crawl'd home; some with one leg, some ne'er an arm, some with their brains beaten out, and glad they 'scaped so. PHIL. But, my dear countrymen, you'll stick to me? 1 Sold. Stick 1 aye, my lord, stick like bandogs, till we be pull'd off. Phil. That's nobly said: I'll lead you but to death, Where I'll have greatest share; we shall win fame For life, and that doth crown a soldier's name. 1 Sold. How! to death, my lord? Not I, by Gad's-lid: I have a poor wife and children at home, and if I die, they beg : and do you think I'll see her go up and down the wide universal world? Phil. For every drop of blood which thou shalt lose, Coward, I'll give thy wife a wedge of gold. 2 Sold. Hang him, meacock! my lord, arm yourself; I'll fight for you, till I have not an eye to see the fire in my touch-hole. "PHIL. Be thou a king's companion; thou, and I, Will dare the cardinal and the Moor to fight In single combat; shall we ? hah . 2 Sold. Agreed.
Phil. We'll beat 'em to hell gate; shall we hah 2 Sold. Hell gate's somewhat too hot, somewhat too hot; the porter's a knave: I'd be loth to be damn'd for my conscience; I'll knock any body's costard, so I knock not there, my lord; hell gates : PHIL. A pox upon such slaves | 1 Sold. Hang him, a peasant! my lord, you see I am but a scrag ; my lord, my legs are not of the biggest, nor the least, nor the best that e'er were stood upon, nor the worst; but they are of God's making ; and for your sake, if ever we put our enemies to flight again, by Gad's-lid, if I run not after them like a tiger, huff me. PHIL. But wilt thou stand to't ere they fly? hal wilt thou ? 1 Sold. Will I, quoth-a! by this hand and the honour of a soldier PH11. And by a soldier's honour I will load thee With Spanish pistolets to have this head, Thy face, and all thy body stuck with scars, Why ’tis a sight more glorious than to see A lady hung with diamonds! If thou lose A hand, I'll send this after; if an arm, I'll lend thee one of mine; come then, let's fight! A mangled, lame, true soldier is a gem Worth Caesar's empire, though fools spurn at them. . 1 Sold. Yet, my lord, I have seen lame soldiers not worth the crutches they leant upon; hands and arms quoth-he zounds, not I: I’ll double my files, or