Beaumont Fletchers Works, vol 2 | Page 6

drop of blood you bleed--
Dem. I will Celia, I will be carefull.
Cel. My heart, that loves ye dearly.
Dem. Prethee no more, we must part: [Drums a March. Hark, they march now.
Cel. Pox on these bawling Drums: I am sure you'l kiss me, But one kiss? what a parting's this?
Dem. Here take me, And do what thou wilt with me, smother me; But still remember, if your fooling with me, Make me forget the trust--
Cel. I have done: farewel Sir, Never look back, you shall not stay, not a minute.
Dem. I must have one farewel more.
Cel. No, the Drums beat; I dare not slack your honour; not a hand more, Only this look; the gods preserve, and save ye.

ACTUS SECUNDUS. SCENA PRIMA.
Enter Antigonus, Carinthus, Timon.
Ant. What, have ye found her out?
Char. We have hearkned after her.
Ant. What's that to my desire?
Char. Your grace must give us time, And a little means.
Tim. She is sure a stranger, If she were bred or known here--
Ant. Your dull endeavours Enter Menippus. Should never be employ'd. Welcom Menippus.
Men. I have found her Sir, I mean the place she is lodg'd in; her name is Celia, And much adoe I had to purchase that too.
Ant. Dost think Demetrius loves her?
Men. Much I fear it, But nothing that way yet can win for certain. I'le tell your grace within this hour.
Ant. A stranger?
Men. Without all doubt.
Ant. But how should he come to her?
Men. There lies the marrow of the matter hid yet.
Ant. Hast thou been with thy wife?
Men. No Sir, I am going to her.
Ant. Go and dispatch, and meet me in the garden, And get all out ye can. [Exit.
Men. I'le doe my best Sir. [Exit.
Tim. Blest be thy wife, thou wert an arrant ass else.
Char. I, she is a stirring woman indeed: There's a brain Brother.
Tim. There's not a handsom wench of any mettle Within an hundred miles, but her intelligence Reaches her, and out-reaches her, and brings her As confidently to Court, as to a sanctuary: What had his mouldy brains ever arriv'd at, Had not she beaten it out o'th' Flint to fasten him? They say she keeps an office of Concealments: There is no young wench, let her be a Saint, Unless she live i'th' Center, but she finds her, And every way prepares addresses to her: If my wife would have followed her course Charinthus, Her lucky course, I had the day before him: O what might I have been by this time, Brother? But she (forsooth) when I put these things to her, These things of honest thrift, groans, O my conscience, The load upon my conscience, when to make us cuckolds, They have no more burthen than a brood-[goose], Brother; But let's doe what we can, though this wench fail us, Another of a new way will be lookt at: Come, let's abroad, and beat our brains, time may For all his wisdom, yet give us a day. [Exeunt.

SCENA II.
Drum within, Alarm, Enter Demetrius, and Leontius.
Dem. I will not see 'em fall thus, give me way Sir, I shall forget you love me else.
Leo. Will ye lose all? For me to be forgotten, to be hated, Nay never to have been a man, is nothing, So you, and those we have preserv'd from slaughter Come safely off.
Dem. I have lost my self.
Leo. You are cozen'd.
Dem. And am most miserable.
Leo. There's no man so, but he that makes himself so.
Dem. I will goe on.
Leo. You must not: I shall tell you then, And tell you true, that man's unfit to govern, That cannot guide himself: you lead an Army? That have not so much manly suff'rance left ye, To bear a loss?
Dem. Charge but once more Leontius, My friends and my companions are engag'd all.
Leo. Nay give 'em lost, I saw 'em off their horses, And the enemy master of their Arms; nor could then The policie, nor strength of man redeem 'em.
Dem. And shall I know this, and stand fooling?
Leo. By my dead Fathers soul you stir not, Sir, Or if you doe, you make your way through me first.
Dem. Thou art a Coward.
Leo. To prevent a Madman. None but your Fathers Son, durst call me so, 'Death if he did--Must I be scandal'd by ye, That hedg'd in all the helps I had to save ye? That, where there was a valiant weapon stirring, Both search'd it out, and singl'd it, unedg'd it, For fear it should bite you, am I a coward? Go, get ye up, and tell 'em ye are the Kings Son; Hang all your Ladys favours on your Crest, And let them fight their shares; spur to destruction, You cannot miss the way: be bravely desperate, And your young friends before ye, that lost this battel, Your honourable friends, that knew no order, Cry