Siege, The: Or, Love's Convert, A Tragi-Comedy - Act 3. Scene 4


To him Cleodemus, Timophilus, Callimachus,
Philostratus .

Cle . Leave off this grief; The Citie's up in Arms Sir —
Mis . How does Leucasia ?
Tim . — They're almost with us — —
Phi . — Their March is swift; Eudemus is their Captain —
Cal . — They are resolv'd to kill, or to be kill'd —
Mis . Hath she not slept as yet?
Cle . Do you sleep Sir?
Tim . Are you in such a Lethargy, that Thunder
Cannot awake you?
Mis . Doth her wound much grieve her?
Tim . You will be Butcher'd Sir within this half hour.
Mis . Ha!
Phil . You will have your throat cut presently.
Mis . Ay!
Cal . Pox upon this paltry nonsense Love.
Will you be made a Martyr by your slaves?
Mis . What is the matter Captain?
Cal . Why, the City
Is up in Arms, coming to kill you Sir.
Mis . Let 'em do what they will. You have not told
Whether Leucasia slept or no.
Cle . Come Sir,
On with this Sword; girt, and bestir your self.
Mis . What would you have me do?
Tim . Wee'd have you fight,
Or else give us directions how we shall.
Mis . I charge you make not any shew of Battel;
Let there be no resistance; give 'em free
And unmolested passage to me: all
Is safe I'm sure, if that you'l be contented.
He that shall first lift up his hand against 'em
Shall be the first that falls.
Cle . Then dye alone.
And perish sluggishly without resistance.
Tim . Come let's away, and each shift for himself.
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