Act 4 — Scene II.

Shows a Field of Tents, seen at some distance through the Trees of a Wood, Drums, Trumpets and the noise of Battel, with hollowing. The Indians are seen with Battel-Axes to retreat fighting from the English, and all go off; when they re-enter immediately beating back the English, the Indian King at the head of his Men, with Bows and Arrows; Daring being at the head of the English: They fight off; the Noise continues less loud as more at distance.

Enter Bacon with his Sword drawn, meets Fearless with his Sword drawn.

Fear. Haste, haste, Sir, to the Entrance of the Wood, Daring’s engaged past hope of a Retreat, venturing too far, pursuing of the Foe; the King in Ambush, with his poison’d Archers, fell on, and now we are dangerously distrest.

Bac. Daring is brave, but he’s withal too rash, come on and follow me to his Assistance— Go out.

A hollowing within, the Fight renews; enter the Indians beaten back by Bacon, Daring and Fearless; they fight off; the noise of Fighting continues a while, this still behind the Wood.

Enter Indians flying over the Stage, pursued by the King.

King. Turn, turn, ye fugitive Slaves, and face the Enemy; Oh Villains, Cowards, deaf to all Command: by Heaven, I had my Rival in my view, and aim’d at nothing but my conquering him—now like a Coward I must fly with Cowards, or like a desperate Madman fall, thus singly, midst the numbers. Follows the Indians.

Enter Bacon inraged with his Sword drawn, Fearless and Daring following him.

Bac. —Where is the King, oh ye perfidious Slaves? how, have you hid him from my just Revenge?—search all the Brakes, the Furzes and the Trees, and let him not escape on pain of Death.

Dar. We cannot do wonders, Sir.

Bac. But you can run away.—

Dar. Yes, when we see occasion—yet—shou’d any but my General tell me so—by Heaven, he should find I were no starter.

Bac. Forgive me, I’m mad—the King’s escaped, hid like a trembling Slave in some close Ditch, where he will sooner starve than fight it out.

Re-enter Indians running over the Stage, pursued by the King, who shoots them as they fly; some few follow him.

King. All’s lost—the Day is lost—and I’m betray’d;—Oh Slaves, that even Wounds can’t animate. In Rage.

Bac. The King!

King. The General here! by all the Powers, betray’d by my own Men!

Bac. Abandon’d as thou art, I scorn to take thee basely; you shall have Soldiers chance, Sir, for your Life, since Chance so luckily has brought us hither; without more Aids we will dispute the Day: This Spot of Earth bears both our Armies Fates; I’ll give you back the Victory I have won, and thus begin a-new on equal Terms.

King. That’s nobly said!—the Powers have heard my Wish. You, Sir, first taught me how to use a Sword, which heretofore has served me with Success: But now—’tis for Semernia that it draws, a Prize more valued than my Kingdom, Sir—

Bac. Hah, Semernia!

King. Your Blushes do betray your Passion for her.

Dar. ’Sdeath, have we fought for this, to expose the Victor to the conquer’d Foe?

Fear. What, fight a single Man—our Prize already.

King. Not so, young Man, while I command a Dart.

Bac. Fight him! by Heaven, no reason shall dissuade me, and he that interrupts me is a Coward; whatever be my Fate, I do command ye to let the King pass freely to his Tents.

Dar. The Devil’s in the General.

Fear. ’Sdeath, his Romantick Humour will undo us. They fight and pause.

King. You fight as if you meant to outdo me this way, as you have done in Generosity.

Bac. You’re not behind-hand with me, Sir, in courtesy: Come, here’s to set us even— Fight again.

King. You bleed apace.

Bac. You’ve only breath’d a Vein, and given me new Health and Vigour by it.

They fight again, Wounds on both sides, the King staggers; Bacon takes him in his Arms; the King drops his Sword.

How do you, Sir?

King. Like one—that’s hovering between Heaven and Earth; I’m—mounting—somewhere—upwards—but giddy with my flight,—I know not where.

King. Oh, Semernia, how much more Truth had thy Divinity than the Predictions of the flattering Oracles! Commend me to her—I know you’ll—visit—your fair Captive, Sir, and tell her—oh—but Death prevents the rest. Dies.

Enter Fearless.

Bac. He’s gone—and now, like Cæsar, I could weep over the Hero I my self destroyed.

Fear. I’m glad for your repose I see him there—’twas a mad hot-brain’d Youth, and so he died.

Bac. Come bear him on your Shoulders to my Tent, from whence with all the solemn State we can, we will convey him to his own Pavilion.

Enter a Soldier.

Sold. Some of our Troops pursuing of the Enemy even to their Temples, which they made their Sanctuary, finding the Queen at her Devotion there with all her Indian Ladies, I’d much ado to stop their violent Rage from setting fire to the holy Pile.

Bac. Hang ’em immediately that durst attempt it, while I my self will fly to rescue her. Goes out, they bear off the King’s Body; Ex. all.

Enter Whimsey, pulling in Whiff, with a Halter about his Neck.

Whim. Nay, I’m resolved to keep thee here till his Honour the General comes.—What, to call him Traitor, and run away after he had so generously given us our freedom, and listed us Cadees for the next Command that fell in his Army—I’m resolved to hang thee—

Whiff. Wilt thou betray and peach thy Friend? thy Friend that kept thee Company all the while thou wert a Prisoner—drinking at my own charge—

Whim. No matter for that, I scorn Ingratitude, and therefore will hang thee—but as for thy drinking with me—I scorn to be behind-hand with thee in Civility, and therefore here’s to thee. Takes a Bottle of Brandy out of his Pocket, Drinks.

Whiff. I can’t drink.

Whim. A certain sign thou wo’t be hang’d.

Whiff. You us’d to be o’ my side when a Justice, let the Cause be how it wou’d. Weeps.

Whim. Ay—when I was a Justice I never minded Honesty, but now I’ll be true to my General, and hang thee to be a great Man.—

Whiff. If I might but have a fair Trial for my Life—

Whim. A fair Trial!—come, I’ll be thy Judge—and if thou canst clear thy self by Law, I’ll acquit thee: Sirrah, Sirrah, what canst thou say for thy self for calling his Honour Rebel? Sits on a Drum-head.

Whiff. ’T was when I was drunk, an’t like your Honour.

Whim. That’s no Plea; for if you kill a Man when you are sober, you must be hanged when you are drunk. Hast thou any thing else to say for thy self why Sentence may not pass upon thee?

Whiff. I desire the Benefit of the Clergy.

Whim. The Clergy! I never knew any body that ever did benefit by ’em; why, thou canst not read a word.

Whiff. Transportation then—

Whim. It shall be to England then—but hold—who’s this? Dullman creeping from a Bush.

Dull. So the Danger’s over, I may venture out—Pox on’t, I wou’d not be in this fear again, to be Lord Chief Justice of our Court. Why, how now, Cornet?—what, in dreadful Equipage? Your Battle-Ax bloody, with Bow and Arrows.

Enter Timorous with Battle-Ax, Bow and Arrows, and Feathers on his Head.

Tim. I’m in the posture of the times, Major—I cou’d not be idle where so much Action was; I’m going to present my self to the General, with these Trophies of my Victory here—

Dull. Victory—what Victory—did not I see thee creeping out of yonder Bush, where thou wert hid all the Fight—stumble on a dead Indian, and take away his Arms?

Tim. Why, didst thou see me?

Dull. See thee, ay—and what a fright thou wert in, till thou wert sure he was dead.

Tim. Well, well, that’s all one—Gads zoors, if every Man that passes for valiant in a Battel, were to give an account how he gained his Reputation, the World wou’d be but thinly stock’d with Heroes; I’ll say he was a great War-Captain, and that I kill’d him hand to hand, and who can disprove me?

Dull. Disprove thee—why, that pale Face of thine, that has so much of the Coward in’t.

Tim. Shaw, that’s with loss of Blood—Hah, I am overheard I doubt—who’s yonder— Sees Whim. and Whiff. how, Brother Whiff in a Hempen Cravat-string?

Whim. He call’d the General Traitor, and was running away, and I’m resolv’d to peach.

Dull. Hum—and one Witness will stand good in Law, in case of Treason—

Tim. Gads zoors, in case of Treason, he’ll be hang’d if it be proved against him, were there ne’er a Witness at all; but he must be tried by a Council of War, Man—Come, come, let’s disarm him—

They take away his Arms, and pull a Bottle of Brandy out of his Pocket.

Whiff. What, I hope you will not take away my Brandy, Gentlemen, my last comfort.

Tim. Gads zoors, it’s come in good time—we’ll drink it off, here, Major— Drinks, Whiff takes him aside.

Whiff. Hark ye, Cornet—you are my good Friend, get this matter made up before it come to the General.

Tim. But this is Treason, Neighbour.

Whiff. If I hang—I’ll declare upon the Ladder how you kill’d your War-Captain.

Tim. Come, Brother Whimsey—we have been all Friends and loving Magistrates together, let’s drink about, and think no more of this Business.

Dull. Ay, ay, if every sober Man in the Nation should be called to account of the Treason he speaks in’s Drink, the Lord have mercy upon us all.—Put it up—and let us, like loving Brothers, take an honest Resolution to run away together; for this same Frightall minds nothing but Fighting.

Whim. I’m content, provided we go all to the Council, and tell them (to make our Peace) we went in obedience to the Proclamation, to kill Bacon, but the Traitor was so strongly guarded we could not effect it: but mum—who’s here?—

To them, enter Ranter and Jenny, as Man and Footman.

Ran. Hah, our four reverend Justices—I hope the Blockheads will not know me—Gentlemen, can you direct me to Lieutenant General Daring’s Tents?

Whiff. Hum, who the Devil’s this?—that’s he you see coming this way. ’Sdeath, yonder’s Daring—let’s slip away before he advances.

Exeunt all but Ran. and Jen.

Jen. I am scar’d with those dead Bodies we have pass’d over; for God’s sake, Madam, let me know your design in coming.

Ran. Why, now I tell thee—my damn’d mad Fellow Daring, who has my Heart and Soul, loves Chrisante, has stolen her, and carried her away to his Tents; she hates him, while I am dying for him.

Jem. Dying, Madam! I never saw you melancholy.

Ran. Pox on’t, no; why should I sigh and whine, and make my self an Ass, and him conceited? no, instead of snivelling I am resolved—

Jen. What, Madam?

Ran. Gad, to beat the Rascal, and bring off Chrisante.

Jen. Beat him, Madam! what, a Woman beat a Lieutenant-General?

Ran. Hang ’em, they get a name in War from Command, not Courage; but how know I but I may fight? Gad, I have known a Fellow kick’d from one end of the Town to t’other, believing himself a Coward; at last forced to fight, found he could; got a Reputation, and bullied all he met with; and got a Name, and a great Commission.

Jen. But if he should kill you, Madam.

Ran. I’ll take care to make it as comical a Duel as the best of ’em; as much in love as I am, I do not intend to die its Martyr.

Enter Daring and Fearless.

Fear. Have you seen Chrisante since the Fight?

Dar. Yes, but she is still the same, as nice and coy as Fortune when she’s courted by the wretched; yet she denies me so obligingly, she keeps my Love still in its humble Calm.

Ran. Can you direct me, Sir, to one Daring’s Tent? Sullenly.

Dar. One Daring!—he has another Epithet to his Name.

Ran. What’s that, Rascal, or Coward?

Dar. Hah, which of thy Stars, young Man, has sent thee hither, to find that certain Fate they have decreed?

Ran. I know not what my Stars have decreed, but I shall be glad if they have ordain’d me to fight with Daring:—by thy concern thou shou’dst be he?

Dar. I am, prithee who art thou?

Ran. Thy Rival, though newly arrived from England, and came to marry fair Chrisante, whom thou hast ravish’d, for whom I hear another Lady dies.

Dar. Dies for me?

Ran. Therefore resign her fairly—or fight me fairly—

Dar. Come on, Sir—but hold—before I kill thee, prithee inform me who this dying Lady is?

Ran. Sir, I owe ye no Courtesy, and therefore will do you none by telling you—come, Sir, for Chrisante—draw. They offer to fight, Fearless steps in.

Fear. Hold—what mad Frolick’s this?—Sir, you fight for one you never saw to Ranter. and you for one that loves you not. To Dar.

Dar. Perhaps she’ll love him as little.

Ran. Gad, put it to the Trial, if you dare—if thou be’st generous, bring me to her, and whom she does neglect shall give the other place.

Dar. That’s fair, put up thy Sword—I’ll bring thee to her instantly.

Exeunt.