Tossing my bulrush thus. Pray, sir, tell me,
Might not a child of good discretion
Be leader to an army?

Fran. Yes, cousin, a young prince
Of good discretion might.

Giov. Say you so?
Indeed I have heard, 'tis fit a general
Should not endanger his own person oft;
So that he make a noise when he 's a-horseback,
Like a Danske drummer,--Oh, 'tis excellent!--
He need not fight! methinks his horse as well
Might lead an army for him. If I live,
I 'll charge the French foe in the very front
Of all my troops, the foremost man.

Fran. What! what!

Giov. And will not bid my soldiers up, and follow,
But bid them follow me.

Brach. Forward lapwing!
He flies with the shell on 's head.

Fran. Pretty cousin!

Giov. The first year, uncle, that I go to war,
All prisoners that I take, I will set free,
Without their ransom.

Fran. Ha! without their ransom!
How then will you reward your soldiers,
That took those prisoners for you?

Giov. Thus, my lord:
I 'll marry them to all the wealthy widows
That falls that year.

Fran. Why then, the next year following,
You 'll have no men to go with you to war.

Giov. Why then I 'll press the women to the war,
And then the men will follow.

Mont. Witty prince!

Fran. See, a good habit makes a child a man,
Whereas a bad one makes a man a beast.
Come, you and I are friends.

Brach. Most wishedly:
Like bones which, broke in sunder, and well set,
Knit the more strongly.

Fran. Call Camillo hither.--
You have receiv'd the rumour, how Count Lodowick
Is turn'd a pirate?

Brach. Yes.

Fran. We are now preparing to fetch him in. Behold your duchess.
We now will leave you, and expect from you
Nothing but kind entreaty.

Brach. You have charm'd me.
[Exeunt Francisco, Monticelso, and Giovanni.
Enter Isabella
You are in health, we see.

Isab. And above health,
To see my lord well.

Brach. So: I wonder much
What amorous whirlwind hurried you to Rome.

Isab. Devotion, my lord.

Brach. Devotion!
Is your soul charg'd with any grievous sin?

Isab. 'Tis burden'd with too many; and I think
The oftener that we cast our reckonings up,
Our sleep will be the sounder.

Brach. Take your chamber.

Isab. Nay, my dear lord, I will not have you