Volume Xiv Part 8 (2/2)

1ST TAI. I'll warrant you.

ANT. But for thy men.

1ST TAI. O, they are proud in that they rescu'd you, And my blood of honour; since you are pleas'd To grace the now declining trade of tailors By being shrouded in their homely clothes, And deck a shop-board with your n.o.ble person; The taunting scorns the foul-mouth'd world can throw Upon our needful calling shall be answered: They injure honour, since your honour is a n.o.ble pract.i.tioner in our mystery.

GIO. Cheer up, Antonio, take him in.

The rest will make him merry; I'd go try The temper of a sword upon some s.h.i.+eld That guards a foe. Pray for my good success.

[_Exit._

1ST TAI. Come, come, my lord, leave melancholy To hired slaves, that murther at a price: Yours was----

ANT. No more: flatter not [so] my sin.

1ST TAI. You are too strict a convert.i.te; let's in.

[_Exit._

_After a confused noise within, enter_ RAYMOND, LEONIS, GILBERTI, _hastily_.

RAY. What means this capering echo?

Or whence did this so lively counterfeit Of thunder break out [in] to liberty?

GIL. 'Tis from the city.

RAY. It cannot be their voice should outroar Jove; Our army, like a basilisk, has struck Death through their eyes; our number, like a wind, Broke from the icy prison of the north, Has froze the portals to their s.h.i.+vering hearts; They scarce have breath enough to speak't They live.

[_A shout within._

GIL. 'Tis certainly from thence.

LEO. Y' are deceived, poor Spaniards! Fear Has chang'd their elevated gait to a dejection: They're planet-struck.

RAY. 'Tis from our jocund fleet, my genius prompts me; They have already plough'd th' unruly seas, And with their b.r.e.a.s.t.s, proof 'gainst the battering Waves, dash'd the big billows into angry froth, And, spite of the contentious foul-mouth'd G.o.ds Of sea and wind, have reach'd the city frontiers, And [have] begirt her navigable skirts.

Again! 'tis so.

[_Again within._

GIL. My creed's another way; I have no faith but to the city.

_Alarum._ _Enter a_ SOLDIER _b.l.o.o.d.y_.

LEO. Here's one: Now we shall know. Ha! he appears Like one compos'd of horror.

RAY. What speaks thy troubled front?

LEO. Speak, crimson meteor.

RAY. Speak, prodigy, or on my sword thou fall'st.

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