Scena Prima.
Enter Theodore, Putskey, Ancient and Servant.
The.
I wonder we hear no news.
Puts.
Here's your fathers servant,
He comes in haste too, now we shall know all, Sir.
The.
How now?
Ser.
I am glad I have met you, Sir; your father
Intreats you presently make haste unto him.
The.
What news?
Ser.
None of the best, Sir, I am asham'd to tell it,
Pray ask no more.
The.
Did not I tell ye, Gentlemen?
Did not I prophesie? he's undone then.
Ser.
Not so, Sir, but as near it—
Puts.
There's no help now;
The Army's scatter'd all, through discontent,
Not to be rallied up in haste to help this.
Anc.
Plague of the Devil; have ye watch'd your seasons?
We shall watch you ere long.
The.
Farewel, there's no cure,
We must endure all now: I know what I'll do.
Exeunt Theodore and Servant.
Puts.
Nay, there's no striving, they have a hand upon us,
A heavy and a hard one.
Anc.
Now I have it,
We have yet some Gentlemen, some Boys of mettle,
(What, are we bob'd thus still, colted, and carted?)
And one mad trick we'll have to shame these Vipers,
Shall I bless 'em?
Puts.
Farewel; I have thought my way too.
Exit
Anc.
Were never such rare Cries in Christendome,
As Mosco shall afford: we'll live by fooling
Now fighting's gone, and they shall find and feel it.
Exit.