Page:Works of Sir John Suckling.djvu/240

220 Dor. The king

Employs a company of formal beards,

Men who have no other proofs of their long lives

But that they are old.

Bren. Right;

And, if they are wise, 'tis for themselves, not others,

As old men ever are.

2nd Sol. Coronel, Coronel,

The enemy's at hand, kills all the sentries.

Young Almerin leads them on again.

Bren. Let him lead them off again.

2nd Sol. Coronel?

Bren. Be gone! If th' art afraid, go hide thyself.

2nd Sol. What a devil ails he?

Bren. This Almerin's the ague of the camp:

He shakes it once a day.

Dor. He's the ill conscience rather;

He never lets it rest. Would I were at home again!

'Sfoot, we lie here i' th' trenches, as if it were

For a wind to carry us into th' other world.

Every hour we expect—I'll no more on't!

Bren. Prithee!

Dor. Not I, by heaven!

Bren. What, man! the worst is but fair death.

Dor. And what will that amount to? a fair epitaph,

A fine account! I'll home, I swear.

Str. Arm, arm, my lord, and show yourself! all's lost else.

Dor. Why so?

Str. The rebels, like an unruly flood,

Roll o'er the trenches, and throw down all before them.

Bren. Ha!

Str. We cannot make a stand.

Bren. He would outrival me in honour too,

As well as love; but that he must not do.

Help me, Stratheman.

The danger now grows worthy of our swords;

And, O Doran, I would to heaven there were

No other storms than the worst tempest here!