Ortho-epia Gallica Eliots fruits for the French: enterlaced vvith a double nevv inuention, vvhich teacheth to speake truely, speedily and volubly the French-tongue. Pend for the practise, pleasure, and profit of all English gentlemen, who will endeuour by their owne paine, studie, and dilligence, to attaine the naturall accent, the true pronounciation, the swift and glib grace of this noble, famous, and courtly language.

The Bragger. Chap. 20.

SAint George, come, some body bring me my launce, my two-hand sword, and my cuirasse, I vvill be armed from top to toe.

Truly here is faire vvorke cut out for martiall men, now vve should march against that Thracian dog, Mahound God of Turkes and of Arabians, we are called away into France to aide the French king against those Saracine leaguers. Oh would to God that Carolus quintus vvere aliue.

O what a marciall head! O what a mad Rowland! I should be sufficiently instructed in militarie affaires, hauing commaunded twentie fiue yeares captaine generall among the Hungarians and Poles, and hasarded my proper person in more then thirtie bloodie battailes.

Come, come, mine armes of malice, I say of maile.

The braue soldior ought to be armed no lesse vvith aduise then with armour.

Where I cannot preuaile vvith the skin of the Lyon, I will vse the cace of Renard the Fox.

Consider vvisely the chaunses of hasard: one must neuer prosecute them to their period: for it behooueth all Caualiers, reuerently to entreat their good fortune, vvithout racking

or tormenting it at all.

I take aduise alwaies before I march, of that which is to be done, to the end that I be not like to the Athenians, who did neuer go into counsell til•• after the deed was past.

I am wise. You are so.

I am full of chiualrie and a spruce souldier. You are so.

I am couragious, vertuous, and magnanimious.

You are so.

I am resolute, noble, generous and magnificent.

You are so.

I am loyall, honourable, well armed, high mounted, well disposed, hasardous, audacious, heroicall, craftie, and cawtelous as the Serpent which tempted Eue.

You are so.

I am come of a noble race: For marke me well: There was a certaine Chalbrot who engendred Sarabrot, the father in law of Nymbrot, not of him who built the Tower of Babell: but of another of the race of Gallafre, the cousin of Brulefer, who was brother to Maschefain, grandsire of Sortibrand of Conymbria, the Nephew of Atlas, who with his shoulders held vp the heauen from falling. The same A••las being bred and borne in Marocco in Barbary. (You Gentlemen knew him well) was cousin german to Gogmagog, who with his two hands set, it is long since, the two hils of chalke neere Cambridge a most famous Vniuersitie in England, to the end that the schollers should walke thether some times to passe their times about them.

The same was gossip to Fierabras, of whom Merlinus Coccaius writeth in his booke of the country of diuels, that he was the first in this world that plaied at dice with spectacles on his nose, of whom descended after∣wards the great Giant Oromedon, father of Bria∣reus, who had a hundred hands, & Offot the god sonne of Coryneus, of whom you may see the image in the Yeeld-hall of London: who is my kinsman a far of:

for of his noble linage am I descended.

I haue read of your ancestors in the Iestes of the foure sonnes of Aymon.

Finde you not that they haue bene verie famous for their horrible feates of Armes?

They haue shewed their singular prowesse truly against the Sarasins.

I rage, Diuels I rage, hold me Diuels, hold me.

Ho Caetzo great Diuel of hell, awake thy sleepie Cyclopes: Thou Vulcan vvho limpest vvith thy cosins Asteropes, Brontes, Steropes, Polyphemus and Pyracmon. I vvill set you a vvorke. I giue my selfe to an hundred pipes of old Diuels, in case that if you vvill not fight, if I do not make you eate the two egges of Proserpina.

Truly Hercules is nothing to you, vvho being in the cradle, kild the two Serpents: for the said Serpents vvere verie litle and vveake things.

Where is this so furious Hercules? I vvould fight vvith him for a litle quarter of an houre.

He vvould make you pisse vinegre before all the vvorld.

Where is Hector that Troian Lad? I haue a great desire to breake a Lance against his Cuirace.

Where is Alexander, the great drunka••d of Greece?

I vvill make him drinke a carouse. To marciall men vve must not spare good vvine.

Where is Achilles the Grig, Captaine of the Mirmidons, I vvould send his soule by and by into hell.

Where is this pettie companion Vlysses? He should do me a message vnto Pluto.

Where is this quaking-quiuering coward Iulius Caesar? that I might horse him on the end of my Pike and Lance.

You count without your host.

I am affraid that before it be night, you will be firked with Musket and Harquebus shot.

Ho! that I am not a king of France for foure score and ten or a hundred yeares: by God I would make curtald curres of you Gentlem••n that ranne away from Pauy.

I hate him more then poyson, who runneth away when tis come to slashing with kniues.

I feare death no more then a butterflie, or the tickling of a flea in mine eare: and as for me, I feare not to fight with a whole Army, if it be not of these mescreant Tartarians, Canniballes, Indians, and Moscouites who shoot forward, backward, sideling, this vvay, that vvay, euery vvay, at long, at large, ouer, vnder.

Of a troth the prouesse of Camillus, Scipio, Pompey▪ Caesar, and Themistocles, are nothing comparable to yours.

I kill men, as Diomedes kild the Thracians, and as Vlyxes, I tye their carkasses to my horse heeles, as Homere recounteth.

I vvish you for all that, if the enemies yeeld themselues, that you take them to mercie and ransome, for clemency is a verie royall vertue.

Ho death of a louse, blood of a bat, by the vertue, my friend if I put not all to fire and sworde, I renounce my life.

You affright me vvith swearing so much.

Thou art a beast of the mountaine.

These are but heroicall vvords, and colours of martiall Rhetoricke to adorne my language.

To put them all to the edge of the sword, tis too cruell a thing that.

I am a martiall man, vvhat vvould you haue? Sassassa, how many are these quistrell-scummes?

By the death of a Calfe, I esteeme them lesse then a rosted Capon, for

They are but bragging fooles of France, Hardie at the bottle, and cowards at the Lance.

My friend, I shock so rudely vpon the enemies, that I ouerthrow them like hogs: to some by and by I spatter their braine, to others I breake their armes, to others I cut off their noses, picke out their eyes, cleaue their iawes, strike their teeth into their head, and if any vvill saue himselfe in running away, I make his head flie in fiue hundred foure score and nine peeces.

If any one crie Saint George, I set my foote vpon his gorge: If he crie Saint Barbara, I pull off his beard: If our Ladie of Loretto, I cut off his head.

Make you readie, the enemies are at hand.

I am armed at aduantage, the Lance in rest, mounted as a S. George.

See the Camp of the enemies: they are incamped on a mole-hill. O tis but a microcosme of flies or vvaspes!

They are not in so great number, as had Xerxes, are they?

He had, if you credit Herodotus and Trogus Pompeius, thirtie hundred thousand fighting men, and neuerthe∣lesse Themistocles with a handfull of men discomfited them.

It is inough, I will bring you them to rost or to boile, to frie or to put in paste. But heare the Drumme: the enemies Camp is not farre hence.

The battailes are ranged. The martiall combat begins pel-mell.

The Artillerie begins to plaie against the walles.

There is a Cannon shot which hath carried away quite the vangard to the Diuel.

The alarum begins to be verie hote. The Trumpets sounde the retraict.

The Infanterie is almost all ouerthrowne.

The cornets of light horse retire.

They fetch their carrier towards me. O what raine of lead! what a smoke of lightening and fire! By God I will runne away. Demosthenes sayth that the man that runneth away will fight againe. I am afeard to be slaine and murdered.

What run-away is this? vvhat coward is this?

Courage, courage, vvhy tremble you?

I am affeard to die.

Sassassa, kill, kill.

O masters saue my life. I haue the word.

I am of your side, a friend.

Who are you? vvhence are you?

vvhat do you here?

I am the seignior Crocodill.

Ha what sayst thou?

Masters I am a poore diuell, I beseech you haue pittie on me, I haue yet a crowne to pay my bienvenu.

You are a spie, I will cut your throat.

O monsieur my friend, I yeeld me to you.

Thou shalt be faine to yeeld villaine, for thou shalt also yeeld thy soule to all the deuils.

Alas, I am cruelly vvounded.

I am dead, slaine, massacred. I go to take the way of the first hospitall.