SCENE IV.
Enter Albanact, Debon, Thrasimachus, and the Lords.
Alba.
Brave Cavaliers, Princes of Albany,
Whose trenchant Blades with our deceased Sire,
-- 3286 --
Passing the Frontires of brave Grecia,
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 eanest zeal,
Which you always protest to Albanact,
For at this time, yea at this present time,
Stout Fugitives come from the Scythians bounds
Have pestred 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 shew their fatal overthrow.
Deb.
So shall your Highness merit great renown,
And imitate your aged Father's steps.
Alba.
But tell me, Cousin, cam'st thou through the Plains?
And saw'st thou there the faint-heart Fugitives
Mustring their Weather-beaten Soldiers,
What order keep they in their Marshalling?
Thra.
After we past the Groves of Caledone,
We did behold the stragling Scythians Camp,
Repleat with Men, stor'd with Munition;
There might we see that valiant minded Knights
Fetching Carriers along the spacious Plains,
Humber and Hubba arm'd in azure blue,
Mounted upon their Coursers white as Snow,
Went to behold the pleasant flowring Fields;
Hector and Troilus, Priamus lovely Ss ,
Chasing the Grecians over Simoeis,
Were not to be compar'd to thee two Knights.
Alb.
Well hast thou painted out in Eloquence
The Portraiture of Humber and his Son;
As fortunate as was Polycrates,
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.
Thra.
What Sirs, what mean you by these clamors made,
Those outcries rais'd in our stately Court?
Strum.
Wild-fire and Pitch, Wild-fire and Pitch.
-- 3287 --
Thra.
Villains I say, tell us the cause hereof?
Strum.
Wild-fire and Pitch, Wild-fire and Pitch.
Thra.
Tell me you Villains, why you make this noise,
Or with my Lance, I will prick your Bowels out.
All.
Where are your Houses, where's your dwelling-place?
Strum.
Place, Ha, ha, ha, laugh a month and a day at him;
place! I cry God mercy, 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 Shittens, the Scythians, 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 withal. 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 re-edify,
Which now are burnt to dust.
Both cry.
Wild-fire and Pitch, Wild-fire and Pitch.
Alb.
Well, we must remedy these outrages,
And throw revenge upon their hateful Heads,
And you good Fellows for your Houses burnt,
We will remunerate your store of Gold,
And build your Houses by our Palace Gate.
Strum.
Gate! O petty Treason to my Person, no where
else but by your backside; Gate! oh how I am vexed in my
Coller: Gate! I cry God mercy, do you hear, Master King?
If you mean to gratifie such poor Men, as we be, you must
build our Houses by the Tavern.
-- 3288 --
Alba.
It shall be done, Sir.
Strum.
Near the Tavern, Ay, 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 re-pass that way, we
will bestow a Quart of the best Wine upon you.
[Exit.
Alba.
It grieves me, Lordings, that my Subjects goods
Should thus be spoiled by the Scythians,
Who as you see with lightfoot Foragers,
Depopulate the Places where they come:
But, cursed Humber, thou shalt rue the day
That e'er thou cam'st unto Cathnesia.
[Exeunt.
Charles Gildon [1709–1710], The works of Mr. William Shakespear; in six [seven] volumes. Adorn'd with Cuts. Revis'd and Corrected, with an Account of the Life and Writings of the Author. By N. Rowe ([Vol. 7] Printed for E. Curll... and E. Sanger [etc.], London) [word count] [S11401].
