_Prota._ I am slow To promise much; But if within ten days, By precepts and examples, not drawn from Worm-eaten presidents of the _Roman_ wars But from mine own, I make them not transcend All that e'er yet bore armes, let it be said, _Protaldye_ brags, which would be unto me As hatefull as to be esteem'd a coward: For Sir, few Captaines know the way to win [him], And make the soldiers valiant. You shall [see me] Lie with them in their trenches, talk, and drink, And be together drunk; And, what seems stranger, We'll sometimes wench together, which once practis'd And with some other care and hidden acts, They being all made mine, I'll breath[e] into them Such fearless resolution and such fervor, That though I brought them to beseige a fort, Whose walls were steeple high, and cannon proof, Not to be undermin'd, they should fly up, Like swallows: and the parapet once won, For proof of their obedience, if I will'd them They should leap down again, and what is more, By some directions they should have from me, Not break their necks.
_Brun._ Sir, on my knowledg[e] though he hath spoke much, He's able to do more.
_Brun._ And howsoever in his thankfulness, For some few favors done him by my self, He left _Austracia_, not _Theodoret_, Though he was chiefly aim'd at, could have laid With all his Dukedomes power, that shame upon him, Which in his barborous malice to my honor, He swore with threats to effect.
_Thier._ I cannot but Believe you Madam, thou art one degree Grown nearer to my heart, and I am proud To have in thee so glorious a plant Transported hither; In thy conduct, we Go on assur'd of conquest; our remove Shall be with the next Sun.
_Enter Theod[o]ret, Memberge, Martell, Devitry._
_Prot._ Our guilt hath no assurance nor defence.
_Bawd._ If now your ever ready wit fail to protect us, We shall be all discover'd.
_Brun._ Be not so In your amazement and your foolish fears, I am prepared for't.
_Theod._ How? Not one poor welcome, In answer of so long a journey made Only to see your brother.
_Thier._ I have stood Silent thus long, and am yet unresolv'd Whether to entertaine thee on my sword, As fits a parricide of a mothers honor; Or whether being a Prince, I yet stand bound (Though thou art here condemn'd) to give thee hearing Before I execute. What foolish hope, (Nay pray you forbear) or desperate madness rather, (Unless thou com'st assur'd, I stand in debt As far to all impiety as thy self) Has made thee bring thy neck unto the axe? Since looking only here, it cannot but Draw fresh blood from thy sear'd up conscience, To make thee sensible of that horror, which They ever bear about them, that like _Nero_, Like said I? Thou art worse: since thou darest strive In her defame to murther thine alive.