(SCENE I.)

Enter Hubert and Damianus.

Hub. For[139] looke you, Damianus, though Henricke, now king, did in the battaile well and Bellizarius enough for a Generall, did not I tell 'em home?

Dam. I heard it.

Hub. They shall not make bonefires of their owne glories and set up for me a poore waxe candle to shew mine. I am full of Gold now: what shall I doe with it, Damianus?

Dam. What doe Marriners after boone voyages, but let all flye; and what Souldiers, when warres are done, but fatten peace?

Hub. Pox of Peace! she has churles enough to fatten her. I'll make a Shamoyes Doublet, embroydered all over with flowers of gold. In these dayes a woman will not looke upon a man if he be not brave. Over my Doublet a Soldado Cassacke of Scarlet, larded thicke with Gold Lace; Hose of the same, cloake of the same, too, lasht up this high and richly lined. There was a Lady, before I went, was working with her needle a Scarffe for mee; but the Wagtaile has left her nest.

Dam. No matter; there's enough such birds everywhere.

Hub. Yes, women are as common as glasses in Tavernes, and often drunke in and more often crackt. I shall grow lazy if I fight not; I would faine play with halfe a dozen Fencers, but it should be at sharpe.[140]

Dam. And they are all for foyles.

Hub. Foyl'd let 'em be then.

Dam. You have had fencing enough in the field, and for women the Christians fill'd[141] your markets.

Hub. Yes, and those markets were our Shambles. Flesh enough! It made me weary of it. Since I came home I have beene wondrous troubled in my sleepes, And often heard to sigh in dead of night As if my heart would cracke. You talk of Christians: Ile tell you a strange thing, a kind of melting in My soule, as 'twere before some heavenly fire, When in their deaths (whom they themselves call Martyrs) It was all rocky. Nothing, they say, can soften A Diamond but Goates blood;[142] they perhaps were Lambs In whose blood I was softened.

Dam. Pray tell how.

Hub. I will: after some three hours being in Carthage I rusht into a Temple. Starr'd all with lights; Which with my drawne sword rifling, in a roome Hung full of Pictures, drawne so full of sweetnesse They struck a reverence in me, found I a woman, A Lady all in white; the very Candles Took brightnesse from her eyes and those cleare Pearles Which in aboundance falling on her cheekes Gave them a lovely bravery. At my rough entrance She shriek'd and kneel'd, and holding up a paire Of Ivory fingers begg't that I would not (Though I did kill) dishonour her, and told me She would pray for me. Never did Christian So near come to my heart-strings; I let my Sword Fall from me, stood astonish't, and not onely Sav'd her my selfe but guarded her from others.

Dam. Done like a Souldier.

Hub. Blood is not ever The wholsom'st Wine to drinke. Doubtlesse these Christians Serve some strange Master, and it needes must bee A wonderfull sweete wages which he paies them; And though men murmour, get they once here footing, Then downe goes our Religion, downe our Altars, And strange things be set up.—I cannot tell: We, held so pure, finde wayes enough to hell. Fall out what can, I care not; Ile to Bellizarius.

Dam. Will you? pray carry to him my best wishes.

Hub. I can carry anything but Blowes, Coles,[143] my Drink, and that clapper of the Divell, the tongue of a Scould. Farewell.

[Exeunt.