The Noble Spanish Soldier Part 5

BALTHAZAR To hear a soldier speak.

c.o.c.kADILLO I am no ear picker To sound his hearing that way.

BALTHAZAR Are you of court sir?

c.o.c.kADILLO Yes, the King's barber.

BALTHAZAR That's his ear picker. Your name, I pray.

c.o.c.kADILLO Don c.o.c.kadillio If, soldier, thou hast suits to beg at court, I shall descend so low as to betray Thy paper to the hand Royal.

BALTHAZAR I beg, you whorson muscod <16>! My pet.i.tion is written on my bosom in red wounds.

c.o.c.kADILLO I am no barber-surgeon.

Exit c.o.c.kadillio.

BALTHAZAR You yellowhammer, why, shaver: that such poor things as these, only made up of tailor's shreds and merchant's silken rags and 'pothecary drugs to lend their breath sophisticated smells, when their rank guts stink worse than cowards in the heat of battle. Such whaleboned- doublet rascals, that owe more to laundresses and seamsters for laced linen than all their race from their great grand-father to this their reign, in clothes were ever worth.

These excrements of silk worms! Oh that such flies do buzz about the beams of Majesty, like earwigs tickling a King's yielding ear with that court-organ, flattery, when a soldier must not come near the court gates twenty score, but stand for want of clothes, though he win towns, amongst the almsbasket-men! His best reward being scorned to be a fellow to the blackguard. Why should a soldier, being the world's right arm, be cut thus by the left, a courtier? Is the world all ruff and feather and nothing else? Shall I never see a tailor give his coat with a difference from a gentleman?

Enter King, Alanzo, Carlo, c.o.c.kadillio.

KING My Balthazar!

Let us make haste to meet thee. How art thou altered?

Do you not know him?

ALANZO Yes Sir, the brave soldier Employed against the Moors

KING Half turned Moor!

I'll honour thee, reach him a chair, that table And now, Aeneas-like, let thine own trumpet Sound forth thy battle with those slavish Moors.

BALTHAZAR My music is a Cannon, a pitched field my stage, Furies the actors, blood and vengeance the scene, death the story, a sword imbrued with blood, the pen that writes, and the poet a terrible buskined <17> tragical fellow, with a wreath about his head of burning match instead of bays.

KING On to the battle.

BALTHAZAR 'Tis here without bloodshed. This our main battalia, that the van, this the vaw <18>, these the wings, here we fight, there they fly, here they insconce <19>, and here our sconces <20> lay seventeen moons on the cold earth.

KING This satisfies my eye, but now my ear Must have his music too. Describe the battle.

BALTHAZAR The battle? Am I come from doing to talking? The hardest part for a soldier to play is to prate well. Our tongues are fifes, drums, petronels <21>, muskets, culverin <22> and cannon. These are our roarers, the clocks which we go by are our hands. Thus we reckon ten, our swords strike eleven and when steel targets of proof clatter one against another, then 'tis noon that's the height and the heat of the day of battle.

KING So.

BALTHAZAR

To that heat we came, our drums beat, pikes were shaken and shivered, swords and targets clashed and clattered, muskets rattled cannons roared, men died groaning, brave laced jerkings and feathers looked pale, tottered rascals fought pell mell. Here fell a wing, there heads were tossed like footb.a.l.l.s, legs and arms quarrelled in the air and yet lay quietly on the earth. Horses trampled upon heaps of carca.s.ses, troops of carbines tumbled wounded from their horses, we besiege Moors and famine us, mutinies bl.u.s.ter and are calm. I vowed not to doff mine armour though my flesh were frozen to it and turn into iron, nor to cut head nor beard till they yielded. My hairs and oath are of one length for, with Caesar, thus write I mine own story: veni, vidi, vici.

KING A pitched field, quickly fought. Our hand is thine, And because thou shalt not murmur that thy blood Was lavished forth for an ungrateful man, Demand what we can give thee and 'tis thine.

BALTHAZAR Only your love.

KING 'Tis thine, rise soldier's best accord When wounds of wrong are healed up by the sword.

Onaelia knocks loudly at the door.

ONAELIA Let me come in, I'll kill the treacherous King, The murderer of mine honour, let me come in.

KING What woman's voice is that?

ALL Medina's niece.

KING Bar out that fiend.

ONAELIA I'll tear him with my nails, Let me come in, let me come in, help, help me.

KING Keep her from following me. A guard.

ALANZO They are ready, sir.

KING Let a quick summons call our Lords together, This disease kills me.

BALTHAZAR Sir, I would be private with you.

KING Forebear us, but see the doors are well guarded.

Exeunt [King and Balthazar remain].

BALTHAZAR Will you, Sir, promise to give me freedom of speech?

KING Yes, I will, take it, speak any thing, 'tis pardoned.

BALTHAZAR You are a wh.o.r.emaster. Do you send me to win towns for you abroad and you lose a kingdom at home?

KING What kingdom?

BALTHAZAR The fairest in the world, the kingdom of your fame, your honour.

KING Wherein?

BALTHAZAR I'll be plain with you. Much mischief is done by the mouth of a cannon, but the fire begins at a little touch-hole. You heard what nightingale sung to you even now.

KING Ha, ha, ha!

BALTHAZAR Angels erred but once and fell, but you Sir, spit in heaven's face every minute and laugh at it. Laugh still, follow your courses, do.

Let your vices run like your kennels of hounds, yelping after you till they pluck down the fairest head in the herd, everlasting bliss.

KING Any more?