To shake and totter my Designs? Can you imagine,
You Men of poor and common Apprehenfions,
While I admit this Man my Son, this Nature,
That in one Look carries more Fire, and Fiercenefs,
Than all your Masters in their Lives; dare I admit him,
Admit him thus, even to my Side, my Bofom,
When he is fit to rule, when all Men cry him,
And all Hopes hang about his Head; thus place him,
His Weapon hatch'd in Blood, all these attending
When he shall make their Fortunes, all as fudden
In any Expedition he shall point 'em,

As Arrows from a Tartar's Bow, and speeding,
Dare I do this, and fear an Enemy?

Fear your great Mafter? yours? or yours?
Dem. O Hercules!

Who fays, you do, Sir? Is there any thing
In these Mens Faces, or their Masters' Actions,
Able to work fuch Wonders?

Cel. Now he speaks:

O, I could dwell upon that Tongue for ever!

[ties,
Dem. You call 'em Kings, they never wore thofe Royal-
Nor in the Progrefs of their Lives arriv'd yet
At any Thought of King: Imperial Dignities,
And powerful Godlike Actions, fit for Princes,
They can no more put on, and make 'em fit right,
Than I can with this mortal Hand hold Heav'n:
Poor petty Men, nor have I yet forgot

The chiefeft Honours Time and Merit gave 'em :
Lyfimachus your Mafter, at the best,

His highest and his hopefull'ft Dignities,
Was but Grand-mafter of the Elephants;
Seleucus of the Treafure; and for Ptolomey,

A Thing not thought on then, scarce heard of yet,
(2) Some Master of Munition: And must these Men ----
Cel. What a brave Confidence flows from his Spirit!
O fweet young Man!

(2) Some Mafter of Ammunition:] Here again the Verse labours under a fuperfluous Syllable. Munition was undoubtedly the original Word, and which bears the Sense of Ammunition.

Dem.

(3) Dem. Muft these hold Place with us,
And on the fame File hang their Memories?
Must these examine what the Wills of Kings are?
Prescribe to their Designs, and chain their Actions

To their Reftraints? be Friends and Foes when they please? Send out their Thunders, and their Menaces,

As if the Fate of mortal Things were theirs?

Go home, good Men, and tell your Masters from us,
We do 'em too much Honour to force from 'em
Their barren Countries, ruin their waste Cities;
And tell 'em out of Love, we mean to leave 'em,
Since they will needs be Kings, no more to tread on,
Than they have able Wits and Pow'rs to manage;
And fo we shall befriend 'em. Ha! what does the there?

Emb. This is your Anfwer, King?
Ant. 'Tis like to prove fo.

Dem. Fy, Sweet, what makes

Cel. Pray ye, do not chide me.

you here?

Dem. You do yourself much Wrong, and me.
Cel. Pray you, pardon me,

I feel my Fault, which only was committed
Through my dear Love to you: I have not seen ye,
And how can I live then? I have not spoke to ye

Dem. I know, this Week ye have not; I will redeem all.
You are fo tender now; think, where you are, Sweet.
Cel. What other Light have I left?

Dem. Prithee, Celia,

Indeed, I'll fee you prefently.

Cel. I have done, Sir:

You will not miss?

Dem. By this, and this, I will not.

Cel. 'Tis in your Will, and I must be obedient.
Dem. No more of these Affemblies.

Cel. I am commanded.

1 Ub. Room for the Lady there! Madam, my Service1 Gent. My Coach, an't please you, Lady.

(3)

Muft thefe hold Pace with us,] To preferve an Uniformity in the Metaphor, as File is in the fubfequent Line, I have ventur'd to alter Pace into Place.

2 Ub. Room before there!

2 Gent. The Honour, Madam, but to wait upon you→ My Servants and my State.

Cel. Lord, how they flock now?

Before, I was afraid, they wou'd have beat me;

How thefe Flies play i'th' Sun-fhine? pray ye, no SerOr if ye needs must play the Hobby-horses,

Seek out fome Beauty that affects 'em: Farewel,

[vices;

Nay, pray ye, fpare, Gentlemen, I am old enough
To go alone at thefe Years, without Crutches.

[Exit.

2 Ub. Well, I could curfe now: But that will not help me.

I made as fure Account of this Wench now, immediately, Do but confider how the Devil has croft me,

Meat for my Mafter, fhe cries; well

3 Emb. Once more, Sir,

We ask your Refolutions: Peace, or War, yet?
Dem. War, War, my noble Father.

1 Emb. Thus I fling it:

And fair-ey'd Peace, farewel!

Ant. You have your Anfwer;

Conduct out the Ambaffadors, and give 'em Convoys. Dem. Tell your high-hearted Mafters, they fhall not

feek us,

Nor cool i'th' Field in Expectation of us,

We'll ease your Men thofe Marches: In their Strengths, And full Abilities of Mind and Courage

We'll find 'em out, and at their best Trim buckle with 'em. 3 Emb. You will find fo hot a Soldier's Welcome, Sir, Your Favour fhall not freeze.

2 Emb. A forward Gentleman,

Pity, the War fhould bruife fuch Hopes

Ant. Conduct 'em

[Exeunt Emb.

Now, for this Preparation: Where's Leontius?
Call him in presently: For I mean in Person,
Gentlemen, myself, with my old Fortune

Dem. Royal Sir,

Thus low I beg this Honour: Fame already

Hath every where rais'd Trophies to your Glory,

And Conqueft now grown old, and weak with following

The

The weary Marches and the bloody Shocks
You daily fet her in; 'Tis now scarce Honour
For You, that never knew to fight, but conquer,
(4) To fparkle fuch poor People: The Royal Eagle,
When the hath try'd her young ones 'gainst the Sun,
And found 'em right; next teacheth 'em to prey;
How to command on Wing, and check below her
Ev'n Birds of noble Plume; I am your own, Sir,
You have found my Spirit, (5) try it now, and teach it
To ftoop whole Kingdoms: Leave a little for me:
Let not your Glory be fo greedy, Sir,

To eat up all my Hopes; you gave me Life,
If to that Life you add not what's more lasting,
A noble Name, for Man, you have made a Shadow.
Blefs me this Day: Bid me go on, and lead,

Bid me go on, no lefs fear'd than Antigonus;
And to my maiden Sword tie faft your Fortune:

I know, 'twill fight itself then. Dear Sir, honour me: Never fair Virgin long'd fo.

Ant. Rife, and command then,

And be as fortunate, as I expect ye:

I love that noble Will; your young Companions,
Bred up and fofter'd with ye, I hope, Demetrius,
You will make Soldiers too; they must not leave ye.
Enter Leontius.

2 Gent. Never till Life leave us, Sir.

Ant. O Leontius,

Here's Work for you in Hand.

Leon. I am ev'n right-glad, Sir.

For, by my Troth, I am now grown old with Idleness; I hear, we fhall abroad, Sir.

Ant. Yes, and presently:

But who, think you, commands now?

(4) To fparkle fuch poor People: ] This Word is feveral times ufed by our Authors, to fignify, fcatter, difperfe; from the Allufion to a red-hot Coal, that difperfes its fulphureous Quality in Sparkles.

try it now, and teach it

(5) To ftoop whole Kingdoms:] i, e. to fubdue; to make whole Kingdoms floop.

Leon.

Leon. Who commands, Sir?

Methinks, mine Eye fhould guide me; Can there be,
If you yourself will spare him fo much Honour,
Any found out to lead before your Armies,

So full of Faith, and Fire, as brave Demetrius?
King Philip's Son, at his Years, was an old Soldier,
'Tis time his Fortune be o'th' Wing, high Time, Sirs
So many idle Hours, as here he loiters,

So many ever-living Names he lofes:

I hope, 'tis he.

Ant. 'Tis he, indeed, and nobly

He shall set forward: Draw you all those Garrisons
Upon the Frontiers as you pafs: To thofe

Join these in Pay at home, our ancient Soldiers;
And, as you go, prefs all the Provinces.

Leon. We fhall not need;

Believe, this hopeful Gentleman

Can want no Swords, nor honeft Hearts to follow him, We fhall be full, no Fear, Sir. Ant. You, Leontius, Because you are an old and faithful Servant,

And know the Wars, with all his Vantages,

Be near to his Inftructions; left his Youth
Lofe Valour's best Companion, staid Discretion;
Shew where to lead, to lodge, to charge with Safety;
In Execution not to break, nor scatter,

But, with a provident Anger, follow nobly:
Not covetous of Blood, and Death, but Honour.
Be ever near his Watches; cheer his Labours,
And, where his Hope ftands fair, provoke his Valour
Love him, and think it no Dishonour, my Demetrius,
To wear this Jewel near thee; he is a try'd one,
And one, that ev'n in fpite of Time, that funk him,
And frosted up his Strength, will yet ftand by thee,
And with the proudeft of thine Enemies

Exchange for Blood, and bravely: Take his Counfel.
Leon. Your Grace hath made me young again, and
Ant. She must be known, and fuddenly : [wanton.
Do ye know her?
[To Menippus.

Gent. Char. No, believe, Sir.
Ant. Did you obferve her, Timon?