Hum.
Hubba, go take a Coronet of our Horse,
As many Lanciers, and Light-armed Knights,
As may suffice for such an enterprise,
And place them in the Grove of Challidon,
With these, when as the Skirmish doth encrease,
Retire thou from the shelters of the Wood,
And set upon the weakned Trojans backs,
For Policy, joined with Chivalry,
Can never be put back from Victory. [Exeunt. Enter Albanact, Clowns with him.

Alba.
Thou base-born Hunn, how durst thou be so bold,
As once to menace warlike Albanact,
The great Commander of these Regions?
But thou shalt buy thy rashness with thy Death,
And rue too late thy over-bold attempts,
For with this Sword, this Instrument of Death.
That hath been drenched in my Foe-mens Blood,
I'll separate thy Body from thy Head;
And set that Coward Blood of thine abroach.

Strum.
Nay, with this Staff, great Strumbo's Instrument,
I'll crack thy Cockscomb, paltry Scythian.

Hum.
Nor wreak I of thy threats thou princox Boy,
Nor do I fear thy foolish Insolency,
And but thou better use thy bragging blade,

Than thou dost rule thy overflowing Tongue,
Superbious Briton, thou shalt know too soon
The force of Humber and his Scythians. [They fight, Humber and his Soldiers run in.

Strum.
O horrible, terrible.

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