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Jackson, Helen Hunt, 1830-1885

"A Collection of Old English Plays, Volume 4"


_Duke_. What, dost thou feare thy cause? is't now so evill?
_Fred_. I am possest with a relenting devill;
Legions of kinde thoughts have supriz'd my sense
And I am too weake to be mine owne defence.
_Duke_. Thou art a coward.
_Fred_. And you make me so,
For you come charm'd like a dishonest[199] foe.
You have conferr'd with spirits, and tane their aydes
To make me weake, by them I am betraid,
My strength drawne from me by a slight;
What other meanes could hold me from the fight?
_Duke_. I have no spells about me.
_Fred_. 'Tis untrue,
For naturall Magique you have brought with you,
And such an exorcisme in your name
That I forbeare the combate to my shame.
But that I am no coward, from your host
Elect two of the valiantst that dare most;
Double that number, treble it, or more,
I have heart at will t'encounter with a score.
Or had your selfe come in a strange attire,
One of us twaine had lost his living fire.
_Enter[200] Montano, Alfred, Vandermas, Valentia, and others_.
_Duke_. Ile trie your valour; see, audacious boy,
Thou art incompast with a world of foes
_Montano, Alfred, Vandermas_, and all:
My Dutchesse comes, too, to behold thy fall.


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