Chapter 50

Trees of a Wood, Drums, Trumpets and the noise of Battel, with hollowing. The _Indians_ are seen with Battel-Axes to retreat fighting from the _English_, and all go off; when they re-enter immediately beating back the _English_, the _Indian King_ at the head of his Men, with Bows and Arrows; _Daring_ being at the head of the _English_: They fight off; the Noise continues less loud as more at distance._

Enter _Bacon_ with his Sword drawn, meets _Fearless_ with his Sword drawn.

_Fear._ Haste, haste, Sir, to the Entrance of the Wood, _Daring’s_ engaged past hope of a Retreat, venturing too far, pursuing of the Foe; the King in Ambush, with his poison’d Archers, fell on, and now we are dangerously distrest.

_Bac._ _Daring_ is brave, but he’s withal too rash, come on and follow me to his Assistance-- [Go out.

[A hollowing within, the Fight renews; enter the _Indians_ beaten back by _Bacon_, _Daring_ and _Fearless_; they fight off; the noise of Fighting continues a while, this still behind the Wood.

Enter _Indians_ flying over the Stage, pursued by the _King_.

_King._ Turn, turn, ye fugitive Slaves, and face the Enemy; Oh Villains, Cowards, deaf to all Command: by Heaven, I had my Rival in my view, and aim’d at nothing but my conquering him--now like a Coward I must fly with Cowards, or like a desperate Madman fall, thus singly, midst the numbers. [Follows the _Indians_.

Enter _Bacon_ inraged with his Sword drawn, _Fearless_ and _Daring_ following him.

_Bac._ --Where is the King, oh ye perfidious Slaves? how, have you hid him from my just Revenge?--search all the Brakes, the Furzes and the Trees, and let him not escape on pain of Death.

_Dar._ We cannot do wonders, Sir.

_Bac._ But you can run away.--

_Dar._ Yes, when we see occasion--yet--shou’d any but my General tell me so--by Heaven, he should find I were no starter.

_Bac._ Forgive me, I’m mad--the King’s escaped, hid like a trembling Slave in some close Ditch, where he will sooner starve than fight it out.

Re-enter _Indians_ running over the Stage, pursued by the _King_, who shoots them as they fly; some few follow him.

_King._ All’s lost--the Day is lost--and I’m betray’d;--Oh Slaves, that even Wounds can’t animate. [In Rage.

_Bac._ The King!

_King._ The General here! by all the Powers, betray’d by my own Men!

_Bac._ Abandon’d as thou art, I scorn to take thee basely; you shall have Soldiers chance, Sir, for your Life, since Chance so luckily has brought us hither; without more Aids we will dispute the Day: This Spot of Earth bears both our Armies Fates; I’ll give you back the Victory I have won, and thus begin a-new on equal Terms.

_King._ That’s nobly said!--the Powers have heard my Wish. You, Sir, first taught me how to use a Sword, which heretofore has served me with Success: But now--’tis for _Semernia_ that it draws, a Prize more valued than my Kingdom, Sir--

_Bac._ Hah, _Semernia_!

_King._ Your Blushes do betray your Passion for her.

_Dar._ ‘Sdeath, have we fought for this, to expose the Victor to the conquer’d Foe?

_Fear._ What, fight a single Man--our Prize already.

_King._ Not so, young Man, while I command a Dart.

_Bac._ Fight him! by Heaven, no reason shall dissuade me, and he that interrupts me is a Coward; whatever be my Fate, I do command ye to let the King pass freely to his Tents.

_Dar._ The Devil’s in the General.

_Fear._ ‘Sdeath, his Romantick Humour will undo us. [They fight and pause.

_King._ You fight as if you meant to outdo me this way, as you have done in Generosity.

_Bac._ You’re not behind-hand with me, Sir, in courtesy: Come, here’s to set us even-- [Fight again.

_King._ You bleed apace.

_Bac._ You’ve only breath’d a Vein, and given me new Health and Vigour by it. [They fight again, Wounds on both sides, the _King_ staggers; _Bacon_ takes him in his Arms; the _King_ drops his Sword. How do you, Sir?

_King._ Like one--that’s hovering between Heaven and Earth; I’m--mounting--somewhere--upwards--but giddy with my flight,--I know not where.

_Bac._ Command my Surgeons,--instantly--make haste; Honour returns, and Love all bleeding’s fled. [Ex. _Fearless_.

_King._ Oh, _Semernia_, how much more Truth had thy Divinity than the Predictions of the flattering Oracles! Commend me to her--I know you’ll--visit--your fair Captive, Sir, and tell her--oh--but Death prevents the rest. [Dies.

Enter _Fearless_.

_Bac._ He’s gone--and now, like _Cæsar_, I could weep over the Hero I my self destroyed.

_Fear._ I’m glad for your repose I see him there--’twas a mad hot-brain’d Youth, and so he died.

_Bac._ Come bear him on your Shoulders to my Tent, from whence with all the solemn State we can, we will convey him to his own Pavilion.

Enter a _Soldier_.

_Sold._ Some of our Troops pursuing of the Enemy even to their Temples, which they made their Sanctuary, finding the Queen at her Devotion there with all her _Indian_ Ladies, I’d much ado to stop their violent Rage from setting fire to the holy Pile.

_Bac._ Hang ‘em immediately that durst attempt it, while I my self will fly to rescue her. [Goes out, they bear off the _King’s_ Body; Ex. all.

Enter _Whimsey_, pulling in _Whiff_, with a Halter about his Neck.

_Whim._ Nay, I’m resolved to keep thee here till his Honour the General comes.--What, to call him Traitor, and run away after he had so generously given us our freedom, and listed us Cadees for the next Command that fell in his Army--I’m resolved to hang thee--

_Whiff._ Wilt thou betray and peach thy Friend? thy Friend that kept thee Company all the while thou wert a Prisoner--drinking at my own charge--

_Whim._ No matter for that, I scorn Ingratitude, and therefore will hang thee--but as for thy drinking with me--I scorn to be behind-hand with thee in Civility, and therefore here’s to thee. [Takes a Bottle of Brandy out of his Pocket, Drinks.

_Whiff._ I can’t drink.

_Whim._ A certain sign thou wo’t be hang’d.

_Whiff._ You us’d to be o’ my side when a Justice, let the Cause be how it wou’d. [Weeps.

_Whim._ Ay--when I was a Justice I never minded Honesty, but now I’ll be true to my General, and hang thee to be a great Man.--

_Whiff._ If I might but have a fair Trial for my Life--

_Whim._ A fair Trial!--come, I’ll be thy Judge--and if thou canst clear thy self by Law, I’ll acquit thee: Sirrah, Sirrah, what canst thou say for thy self for calling his Honour Rebel? [Sits on a Drum-head.

_Whiff._ ‘T was when I was drunk, an’t like your Honour.

_Whim._ That’s no Plea; for if you kill a Man when you are sober, you must be hanged when you are drunk. Hast thou any thing else to say for thy self why Sentence may not pass upon thee?

_Whiff._ I desire the Benefit of the Clergy.

_Whim._ The Clergy! I never knew any body that ever did benefit by ‘em; why, thou canst not read a word.

_Whiff._ Transportation then--

_Whim._ It shall be to _England_ then--but hold--who’s this? [_Dullman_ creeping from a Bush.

_Dull._ So the Danger’s over, I may venture out--Pox on’t, I wou’d not be in this fear again, to be Lord Chief Justice of our Court. Why, how now, Cornet?--what, in dreadful Equipage? Your Battle-Ax bloody, with Bow and Arrows.

Enter _Timorous_ with Battle-Ax, Bow and Arrows, and Feathers on his Head.

_Tim._ I’m in the posture of the times, Major--I cou’d not be idle where so much Action was; I’m going to present my self to the General, with these Trophies of my Victory here--

_Dull._ Victory--what Victory--did not I see thee creeping out of yonder Bush, where thou wert hid all the Fight--stumble on a dead _Indian_, and take away his Arms?

_Tim._ Why, didst thou see me?

_Dull._ See thee, ay--and what a fright thou wert in, till thou wert sure he was dead.

_Tim._ Well, well, that’s all one--Gads zoors, if every Man that passes for valiant in a Battel, were to give an account how he gained his Reputation, the World wou’d be but thinly stock’d with Heroes; I’ll say he was a great War-Captain, and that I kill’d him hand to hand, and who can disprove me?

_Dull._ Disprove thee--why, that pale Face of thine, that has so much of the Coward in’t.

_Tim._ Shaw, that’s with loss of Blood--Hah, I am overheard I doubt--who’s yonder-- [Sees _Whim._ and _Whiff_.] how, Brother _Whiff_ in a Hempen Cravat-string?

_Whim._ He call’d the General Traitor, and was running away, and I’m resolv’d to peach.

_Dull._ Hum--and one Witness will stand good in Law, in case of Treason--

_Tim._ Gads zoors, in case of Treason, he’ll be hang’d if it be proved against him, were there ne’er a Witness at all; but he must be tried by a Council of War, Man--Come, come, let’s disarm him-- [They take away his Arms, and pull a Bottle of Brandy out of his Pocket.

_Whiff._ What, I hope you will not take away my Brandy, Gentlemen, my last comfort.

_Tim._ Gads zoors, it’s come in good time--we’ll drink it off, here, Major-- [Drinks, _Whiff_ takes him aside.

_Whiff._ Hark ye, Cornet--you are my good Friend, get this matter made up before it come to the General.

_Tim._ But this is Treason, Neighbour.

_Whiff._ If I hang--I’ll declare upon the Ladder how you kill’d your War-Captain.

_Tim._ Come, Brother _Whimsey_--we have been all Friends and loving Magistrates together, let’s drink about, and think no more of this Business.

_Dull._ Ay, ay, if every sober Man in the Nation should be called to account of the Treason he speaks in’s Drink, the Lord have mercy upon us all.--Put it up--and let us, like loving Brothers, take an honest Resolution to run away together; for this same _Frightall_ minds nothing but Fighting.

_Whim._ I’m content, provided we go all to the Council, and tell them (to make our Peace) we went in obedience to the Proclamation, to kill _Bacon_, but the Traitor was so strongly guarded we could not effect it: but mum--who’s here?--

To them, enter _Ranter_ and _Jenny_, as Man and Footman.

_Ran._ Hah, our four reverend Justices--I hope the Blockheads will not know me--Gentlemen, can you direct me to Lieutenant General _Daring’s_ Tents?

_Whiff._ Hum, who the Devil’s this?--that’s he you see coming this way. ’.death, yonder’s _Daring_--let’s slip away before he advances.

[Exeunt all but _Ran._ and _Jen._

_Jen._ I am scar’d with those dead Bodies we have pass’d over; for God’s sake, Madam, let me know your design in coming.

_Ran._ Why, now I tell thee--my damn’d mad Fellow _Daring_, who has my Heart and Soul, loves _Chrisante_, has stolen her, and carried her away to his Tents; she hates him, while I am dying for him.

_Jem._ Dying, Madam! I never saw you melancholy.

_Ran._ Pox on’t, no; why should I sigh and whine, and make my self an Ass, and him conceited? no, instead of snivelling I am resolved--

_Jen._ What, Madam?

_Ran._ Gad, to beat the Rascal, and bring off _Chrisante_.

_Jen._ Beat him, Madam! what, a Woman beat a Lieutenant-General?

_Ran._ Hang ‘em, they get a name in War from Command, not Courage; but how know I but I may fight? Gad, I have known a Fellow kick’d from one end of the Town to t’other, believing himself a Coward; at last forced to fight, found he could; got a Reputation, and bullied all he met with; and got a Name, and a great Commission.

_Jen._ But if he should kill you, Madam.

_Ran._ I’ll take care to make it as comical a Duel as the best of ‘em; as much in love as I am, I do not intend to die its Martyr.

Enter _Daring_ and _Fearless_.

_Fear._ Have you seen _Chrisante_ since the Fight?

_Dar._ Yes, but she is still the same, as nice and coy as Fortune when she’s courted by the wretched; yet she denies me so obligingly, she keeps my Love still in its humble Calm.

_Ran._ Can you direct me, Sir, to one _Daring’s_ Tent? [Sullenly.

_Dar._ One _Daring!_--he has another Epithet to his Name.

_Ran._ What’s that, Rascal, or Coward?

_Dar._ Hah, which of thy Stars, young Man, has sent thee hither, to find that certain Fate they have decreed?

_Ran._ I know not what my Stars have decreed, but I shall be glad if they have ordain’d me to fight with _Daring_:--by thy concern thou shou’dst be he?

_Dar._ I am, prithee who art thou?

_Ran._ Thy Rival, though newly arrived from _England_, and came to marry fair _Chrisante_, whom thou hast ravish’d, for whom I hear another Lady dies.

_Dar._ Dies for me?

_Ran._ Therefore resign her fairly--or fight me fairly--

_Dar._ Come on, Sir--but hold--before I kill thee, prithee inform me who this dying Lady is?

_Ran._ Sir, I owe ye no Courtesy, and therefore will do you none by telling you--come, Sir, for _Chrisante_--draw. [They offer to fight, _Fearless_ steps in.

_Fear._ Hold--what mad Frolick’s this?--Sir, you fight for one you never saw [to _Ranter_.] and you for one that loves you not. [To _Dar._

_Dar._ Perhaps she’ll love him as little.

_Ran._ Gad, put it to the Trial, if you dare--if thou be’st generous, bring me to her, and whom she does neglect shall give the other place.

_Dar._ That’s fair, put up thy Sword--I’ll bring thee to her instantly.

[Exeunt.