AND. Can we be foes, and all so well agreed?
BAL. Why, man, in war there’s bleeding amity; And he this day gives me the deepest wound, I’ll call him brother.
AND. Then, prince, call me so; To gain that name, I’ll give the deepest blow.
JER. Nay. then, if brotherhood by strokes come due, I hope, boy, thou wilt gain a brother too.
AND. Lord general, Breathe, like your name, a general defiance ’Gainst Portugal.
BAL. The like Breathe our lord general against the Spaniards.
AND. Now cease, words: I long to hear the music of clashed swords.
BAL. Why, thou shalt hear it presently. [_They offer to fight._
GEN. O stay, my lords, This will but breed a mutiny in the camp.
AND. Art thou? good: Why, then, I’ll quench thee, prince, with thine own blood.
AND. ’Tis meet we did. [_Exeunt Portugals._
JER. Aye, aye, Don Pedro, my boy shall meet thee. Come, valiant spirits of Spain; Valiant Andrea, fortunate Lorenzo, Worthy Rogero, sprightly Horatio; O, let me dwell a little on that name! Be all as fortunate as heaven’s bless’d host, But, blame me not, I’d have Horatio most; Ride all conquerors, when the fight is done, Especially ride thee home so, my son. So now kiss and embrace. Come, come, I am war’s tutor: strike alarum, drum. [_Exeunt._ [_After a long alarum, the Portugals and Spaniards meet. The Portugals are put to the worst._
JER. O valiant boy! struck with a giant’s arm; His sword so falls upon the Portugals, As he[308] would slice them out like oranges, And squeeze their bloods out; O abundant joy! Never had father a more happier boy. [_Exit_ JERONIMO.
BAL. Can you not find Don Andrea forth? O, for a voice shriller than all the trumpets, To pierce Andrea’s ears through the hot army! Go, search again; bring him, or ne’er return. [_Exit Soldier._
Valiant Andrea, by thy worthy blood, Thy honoured faith, which thou pawn’st to mine, By all that thou hold’st dear upon this earth, Sweat now to find me in the height of blood! Now death doth heap his goods up all at once, And crams his storehouse to the top with blood; Might I now and Andrea in one fight Make up thy wardrobe richer by a knight!
BAL. Pies on ’t! What luck is this? But, sir, you part not so; Whate’er you be, I’ll have a bout with you.