The loyal subject, or, The faithful general a play acted at the Theatre-Royal by Her Majesties servants / the authors, Mr. Beaumont and Mr. Fletcher ; with a preface.

Scene. V.

Enter Duke, 2 Exp. Attendants, Gent.

Duk.

The Lord General sick now? Is this a time For Men to creep into their Beds; What's become Express Of my Lieutenant?

Exp.

Beaten, and't please your Grace. And all his Forces routed.

Duk.

That's but cold News.

Enter a Gent.

How now, what good News? Are the Soldiers ready?

Gent.

Yes, Sir, but fight they will not, nor stir from that place They stand in now, unless they have Lord Archas To lead 'em out they rail upon this General, And sing Songs of him, scurvy Songs, to worse Tunes: And much they spare not you, Sir; here they swear They'll stand and see the City burnt, and dance about it, Unless Lord Archas come, before they fight for't. It must be so, Sir.

Duk.

I could wish it so too: And to that end I have sent Lord Burris to him; But all I fear will fail; we must die, Gentlemen, And one stroke we'll have for't.

Enter Burris.

What bring'st thou, Burris?

Bur.

That I am loath to tell; he will not come, Sir. I found him at his Prayers; there he tells me, The Enemy shall take him, fit for Heaven:

I urg'd to him all our Dangers, his own Worths, The Countries ruin: Nay, I kneel'd and pray'd him; He shook his Head, let fall a Tear, and pointed Thus with his Finger to the Ground; a Grave I think he meant; and this was all he answer'd. Your Grace was much too blame. Where's the new General?

Duke.

He is sick, poor Man.

Bur.

He's a poor Man indeed, Sir: Your Grace must needs go to the Soldier.

Duke.

They have sent me Word They will not stir. They rail at me, And all the spight they have—

Shout within. Enter Archas, Olimpia. and Alinda.

What shout is that there? Is the Enemy come so near?

Olim.

I have brought him, Sir; At length I have woo'd him thus far.

Duke.

Happy Sister; O blessed Woman!

Olim.

Use him nobly, Brother; You never had more need: And Gentlemen, All the best Powers ye have, to Tongues turn presently, To winning and perswading Tongues; all my Art, Only to bring him hither, I have utter'd; Let it be yours to arm him: And good, my Lord, Though I exceed the Limit you allow'd me, Which was the happiness to bring ye hither, And not to urge yee farther: Yet, see your Country, Out of your own sweet Spirit now behold it: Turn round, and look upon the Miseries, Of every side the Fears: O see the Dangers; We find 'em soonest, therefore hear me first, Sir.

Duke.

Next, hear your Prince; You have said you lov'd him Archas, And thought your Life too little for his Service: Think not your Vow too great now, now the time is, And now you are brought to th' Test, touch right now Soldier, Now shew the manly pureness of thy Mettle: Now if thou beest that valued Man, that Vertue, That great Obedience teaching all, now stand it. What I have said forget, my Youth was hasty, And what you said your self forgive, you were angry. If Men could live without their Faults, they were Gods, Archas. He weeps, and holds his hands up; to him, Burris.

Bur.

You have shew'd the Prince his Faults: And like a good Surgeon you have laid That to 'em makes 'em smart: He feels it, Let 'em not fester now, Sir: Your own Honour, The Bounty of that Mind, and your Allegeance,

'Gainst which I take it, Heaven gives no Command, Sir, Nor Seals no Vow, can better teach ye now What ye have to do, then I, or this necessity: Only this little's left: would ye do nobly, And in the Eye of Honour truly Triumph? Conquer that Mind first, and then Men are nothing.

Alin.

Last, a poor Virgin kneels: for Loves sake General, If ever you have lov'd; for her sake, Sir, For your own honesty, which is a Virgin, Look up, and pity us, be Bold and Fortunate. You are a Knight, a good, and noble Soldier. And when your Spurs were given ye, your Sword buckl'd, Then were you sworn for Virtues cause, for Beauties, For Chastity to strike: strike now, they suffer: Now draw your Sword, or else you are recreant, Only a Knight ith' Heels, ith' Heart a Coward: Your first Vow honour made, your last but Anger.

Ar.

How like my virtuous Wife this thing looks, speaks too? So would she chide my Dulness: fair one I thank ye: My gracious Sir, your Pardon, next your Hand: Madam, your Favour, and your Prayers: Gentlemen, Your Wishes and your Loves; and pretty sweet one, A favour for your Soldier.

Olim.

Give him this Wench.

Al.

Thus do I tye on Victory.

Ar.

My Armour, My Horse, my Sword, my tough Staff, and my Fortune, And Olin now I come to shake thy Glory.

Duke.

Go Brave and Prosperous, our Loves go with thee.

Olim.

Full of thy Vertue, and our Prayers attend thee.

Bur. &c.

Loaden with Victory, and we to Honour thee.

Al.

Come home ye Son of Honour, And I'll serve ye.

Exeunt.