A Select Collection of Old English Plays Volume Vi Part 83

I see, Castilians, that you marvel much At this same emblem of the olive-tree Upon my back; lo, this it signifies.

Spain is in wars; but London lives in peace: Your native fruit doth wither on your soil, And prospers where it never planted was.

This London's Fealty doth avouch for truth.

Herald of war, and porter of their peace, Command ye me no service to my lords?

S. PRIDE.

Quid tu c.u.m dominis mox servietis miseri n.o.bis[274]: discede.

FEALTY.

Quid mihi c.u.m dominis servietis miseri meis!

POMP.

Shealty, say unto yon Thrasoes three, The Lords of London dare them to the field, Pitying their pride and their ambition, Scorning their tyranny, and yet fearing this, That they are come from home and dare not fight; But if they dare--in joint or several arms, Battle or combat--him that Lucre seeks, Your Spanish Pride, him dare I from the rest.

PLEASURE.

That b.l.o.o.d.y cur, your Spanish Tyranny, That London's Conscience would force with cruelty, I challenge him for Conscience' sake to fight A Lord of London, and I Pleasure hight.

And, Shealty, when citizens dare them thus, Judge what our n.o.bles and our courtiers dare.

POLICY.

Say, if thou wilt, that London's Policy Discerns that proud Ambition of Spain; And for he comes inflam'd with London's Love, In combat let him conquer me, and have her.

This is Love's favour; I her servant am.

POMP.

This Lucre's favour: Pomp for her will fight.

PLEASURE.

This Conscience' favour: she my mistress is.

SHEALTY.

You craven English on your dunghills crow.

POMP.

You Spanish pheasants crow upon your perch: But when we fire your coats about your ears, And take your ships before your walled towns, We make a dunghill of your rotten bones, And cram our chickens with your grains of gold.

SHEALTY.

You will not yield?

PLEASURE.

Yes, the last moneth.

SHEALTY.

Farewell.

[_Retire Heralds with the Pages to their places_.

S. PRIDE.

Vade.

POLICY.

Herald, how now?

FEALTY.

Yon proud Castilians Look for your service.

POMP.

So do we for theirs.

But, Fealty, canst thou declare to me The cause why all their pages follow them, When ours in show do ever go before?

FEALTY.

In war they follow, and the Spaniard is Warring in mind.

POLICY.

But that's not now the cause.

Yon three are Pride, Ambition, Tyranny: Shame follows Pride, as we a proverb have; Pride goes before, and Shame comes after.

Treachery ever attends upon Ambition; And Terror always with a fearful watch Doth wait upon ill-conscienced Tyranny.

But why stay we to give them s.p.a.ce to breathe?

Come, Courage! let us charge them all at once.

[_Let the three Lords pa.s.s towards the Spaniards, and the Spaniards make show of coming forward and suddenly depart_.

POMP.

What braving cowards these Castilians be?

My lords, let's hang our 'scutcheons up again, And shroud ourselves, but not far off, unseen, To prove if that may draw them to some deed, Be it to batter our impressed shields.

PLEASURE.

Agreed. Here, Fealty, hang them up a s.p.a.ce.

[_They hang up their shields, and step out of sight. The Spaniards come, and flourish their rapiers near them, but touch them not, and then hang up theirs; which the Lords of London perceiving, take their own and batter theirs. The Spaniards, making a little show to rescue, do suddenly slip away and come no more_.

POLICY.

Facing, faint-hearted, proud, and insolent, That bear no edge within their painted sheaths, That durst not strike our silly patient shields!

POMP.

Up have they set their own: see, if we dare Batter on them, and beat their braving lords.

PLEASURE.

Let them not yonder hang unhack'd, my lords.

POLICY.

With good advice, that we be not surprised.

POMP.

And good enough myself will onset give[275]

On Pride's. At your Peac.o.c.k, sir.

PLEASURE.

At Tyranny's will I bestow my blow, Wishing the master.

POLICY.

I at Ambition's strike. Have at his pampered jade!