PONTALIER

In a man, but young, Yet old in judgement, theoric, and practic, In all humanity (and to increase the wonder) Religious, yet a Soldier, that he should Yield his free living youth a captive, for The reedome of his aged father's Corpses, And rather choose to want life necessaries, Liberty, hope of fortune, then it should In death be kept from Christian ceremony. But wherefore lets he such a barbarous law, And men more barbarous to execute it, Prevail on his soft disposition, That he had rather die alive for debt Of the old man in prison, then he should Rob him of Sepulture, considering These moneys borrowed bought the lenders peace, And all their means they enjoy, nor was diffused In any impious or licentious path? Alas! he knows himself (in poverty) lost: For in this partial avaricious age What price bears Honour? Virtue? Long ago It was but praised, and freezed, but now a days It's colder far, and has, nor love, nor praise, Very praise now freezeth too: for nature Did make the heathen, f r over Christian then, Then knowledge us (less he thenish) Christian. Certainly! And from this prison 'twas the sons request That his deer father might in erment have. Recorders Mus que. See, the young Son I erd lively gr e. Sir. This is a three-leg'd Lord, ther's a fresh assault, o that men should spend time thus! See see, how her blood drives to her heart, and straight vaults to her cheeks again. One of they there the lower is a good, foolish, kn uish, sociable gallimaufry of a man, and has much taught my Lord with singing, he is master of a music house: the other is his dressing block, upon whom my Lord lays all his clothes, and fashions, ere he vouchsafes they his own person; you shall see him i'th morning in the Galley-foist, at noon in the Bullion, i'th evening in Quirpo, and all night in — If my Lord deny, they deny, if he affirm, they of firm: they skip into my Lords cast skins some twice a year, and thus they live to eat, eat to live, and live to praise my Lord. What's that? O no, it would spoil their clothes, and put their bans out of order. No, I'll none, I'll not be bought a slave, A Pander, or a Parasite, for all Your father's worth, though you have saved my life, Rescued me of en from my wants, I must not Wink at your folly's: that will ruin you. You know my blunt way, and my lo e to truth: Fors ke the p rsuit of this Ladies honour, Now you do see her made another men, And such a men, so good, so popular, Or you will pluck a thousand mischiefs on you, The benefits you have done me, are not lost, Nor cast away, they are pursed here in my heart, But let me pay you, sir, a fairer way Then to defend our vices, or to sooth'em. No more but scorn? Move on then, stars, work your pernicious will. Only the wise rule, and prevent your ill. Exit. Hoboyes. God's death will you suffer this? Take heed he curry not some of you. Will you fit down with this disgrace? You are abused most grossly. I have waited, sir, Three hours to speak with-thee, and not take it well, Such magpies, are admitted, while I worser unce Attendance. A long thing with a most unpromising face. Art not thou a Barber Surgeon? My Lord is sorely troubled with two scabs I prithee cure him of they. Of perfume and apparel, can you rise And spend 5 hours in dr ssing talk, with these? Sir, would you be More curious in preserving of your honour. Trim, 'twere more manly. I am come to wake Your reputation, from this lethargy You let it sleep in, to persuade, importune, Nay, to provoke you, sir, to call to account This Colonel Romont, for the foul wrong Which Like a but then, he hath laid on you, And Like a worser unken porter, you sleep under. It's all the town to lkes, and believe, sir, If your tough sense persist thus, you are undone, Utterly lost, you will be scorned and ba fled By every Lacquay; season now your youth, With one brave thing, and it shall keep the odour Even to your death, beyond, and on your Tomb, Sent Like sweet oils and Frankincense; sir, this life Which once you saved, I never since counted mine, I borrowed it of you; and now will pay it; I tender you the sir ice of my sword To bear your challenge, if you'll write, your fate: I'll make mine own: what ere betide you, I That have lived by you, by your side will die. Farewell, sir, I pity you. Such loving Lords walk their dead honours graves, For no companions fit, but fools and knaves. Come Malotin. Exeunt Pont. Mal. I was bound to seek you, sir. Without this I come to call y u to account, for what Is passed already. I by y ur example Of thankfulness to the dead General By whom you were raised, have practised to be so To my good Lord Nouall, by whom I live; Whose least disgrace that is, or may be offered, With all the hazard of my life and Fortune's, I will make good on you, or any man, That has a hand in't; and since you allow me A Gentl man and a soldier, there's no doubt You will except against me. You shall meet With a fair enemy, you understand The right I look for, and must have. Can your Lordship Imagine, while I live and wear a sword, Your sons death shall be revenged? All his bounties yet Fell not in such unthankful ground: it's true He had weaknesses, but such as few are free from, And though none soothed them less then I: for now To say that I foresaw the dangers that Would rise from cherishing them, were but untimely. I yet could wish the justice that you seek for In the revenge, had been trusted to me, And not the uncertain issue of the laws: 'Tas robbed me of a noble testimony Of what I durst do for him: but however, My forfeit life redeemed by him though dead, Shall do him service. Arrested? This is one of them whose base And object flattery helped to dig his graven: He is not worth your pity, nor my anger. Go to the basket and repent. No, to your trade again, put off this case, It may be the discovering what you were, When your unfortunate master took you up, May move compassion in your creditor. Confess e the truth. Exit Nouall see. Pont. I see by this, Nouals revenge needs me, And I shall do. But in Nouall, I do condemn him thus I receive the we geance, which my love Not built on virtue, would made me worthy, worthy of. TO oath, it's pity, sir. A braver hope of so assured a father Did never comfort France. One word, my Lord Nouall.