Act II. Scene III. The Camp Of Albanact.

[Enter Albanact, Debon, Thrasimachus, and the Lords.]

Brave cavalries, princes of Albany,
Whose trenchant blades with our deceased sire,
Passing the frontiers of brave Graecia,
Were bathed in our enemies' lukewarm blood,
Now is the time to manifest your wills,
Your haughty minds and resolutions.
Now opportunity is offered
To try your courage and your earnest zeal,
Which you always protest to Albanact;
For at this time, yea, at this present time,
Stout fugitives, come from the Scithians' bounds,
Have pestered every place with mutinies.
But trust me, Lordings, I will never cease
To persecute the rascal runnagates,
Till all the rivers, stained with their blood,
Shall fully show their fatal overthrow.

So shall your highness merit great renown,
And imitate your aged father's steps.

But tell me, cousin, camest thou through the plains?
And sawest thou there the fain heart fugitives
Mustering their weather-beaten soldiers?
What order keep they in their marshalling?

After we passed the groves of Caledone,
Where murmuring rivers slide with silent streams,
We did behold the straggling Scithians' camp,
Replete with men, stored with munition;
There might we see the valiant minded knights
Fetching careers along the spacious plains.
Humber and Hubba armed in azure blue,
Mounted upon their coursers white as snow,
Went to behold the pleasant flowering fields;
Hector and Troialus, Priamus lovely sons,
Chasing the Graecians over Simoeis,
Were not to be compared to these two knights.

Well hast thou painted out in eloquence
The portraiture of Humber and his son,
As fortunate as was Policrates;
Yet should they not escape our conquering swords,
Or boast of ought but of our clemency.

[Enter Strumbo and Trompart, crying often;
Wild fire and pitch, wild fire and pitch, &c.]

What, sirs! what mean you by these clamors made,
These outcries raised in our stately court?

Wild fire and pitch, wild fire and pitch.

Villains, I say, tell us the cause hereof?

Wild fire and pitch, &c.

Tell me, you villains, why you make this noise,
Or with my lance I will prick your bowels out.

Where are your houses, where's your dwelling place?

Place? Ha, ha, ha! laugh a month and a day at him.
Place! I cry God mercy: why, do you think that such
poor honest men as we be, hold our habitacles in kings'
palaces? Ha, ha, ha! But because you seem to be an
abominable chieftain, I will tell you our state.

From the top to the toe,
From the head to the shoe;
From the beginning to the ending,
From the building to the burning.

This honest fellow and I had our mansion cottage in the
suburbs of this city, hard by the temple of Mercury. And
by the common soldiers of the Shitens, the Scithians--
what do you call them?--with all the suburbs were burnt
to the ground, and the ashes are left there, for the country
wives to wash bucks withall.

And that which grieves me most,
My loving wife,
(O cruel strife!)
The wicked flames did roast.
And therefore, captain crust,
We will continually cry,
Except you seek a remedy
Our houses to reedify
Which now are burnt to dust.

Wild fire and pitch, wild fire and pitch.

Well, we must remedy these outrages,
And throw revenge upon their hateful heads.
And you, good fellows, for your houses burnst,
We will remunerate you store of gold,
And build your houses by our palace gate.

Gate! O petty treason to my person! nowhere
else but by your backside? Gate! Oh how I am
vexed in my collar! Gate! I cry God mercy! Do
you hear, master king? If you mean to gratify such
poor men as we be, you must build our houses by
the Tavern.

It shall be done, sir.

Near the Tavern, aye! by lady, sir, it was spoken like
a good fellow. Do you hear, sir? when our house is
builded, if you do chance to pass or repass that way,
we will bestow a quart of the best wine upon you.


It grieves me, lordings, that my subjects' goods
Should thus be spoiled by the Scithians,
Who, as you see, with lightfoot foragers
Depopulate the places where they come.
But cursed Humber thou shalt rue the day
That ere thou camest unto Cathnesia.

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