Act 4, Scene V

Scene: The Field of Battle on the Persian Frontiers.

Enter GETA, Guard, and Soldiers.

I'll swear the peace against 'em! I am hurt:
Run for a surgeon, or I faint!
1 Guard.
Bear up, man;
'Tis but a scratch.
Scoring a man o'er the coxcomb
Is but a scratch with you. Pox o' your occupation,
Your scurvy scuffling trade! I was told before,
My face was bad enough; but now I look
Like Bloody-Bone, and Raw-Head, to fright children:
I am for no use else.
2 Guard.
Thou shalt fright men.
1 Guard.
You look so terrible now! But see your face
I' th' pummel of my sword.
I die! I am gone!
Oh, my sweet physiognomy!

Enter three Persians.

2 Guard.
They come;
Now fight, or die indeed.
I will 'scape this way.
I cannot hold my sword: What would you have
Of a maim'd man?
1 Guard.
Nay, then I have a goad
To prick you forward, ox.
2 Guard.
Fight like a man,
Or die like a dog.
Shall I, like Cæsar, fall
Among my friends? no mercy? Et tu, Brute?
You shall not have the honour of my death;
I'll fall by the enemy first.
[They fight.
1 Guard.
Oh, brave, brave Geta!
[Persians driven off.
He plays the devil now.

Enter NIGER.

Make up for honour!
The Persians shrink; the passage is laid open;
Great Dioclesian, like a second Mars,
(His strong arm govern'd by the fierce Bellona)
Performs more than a man; His shield, struck full
Of Persian darts, which now are his defence
Against the enemies' swords, still leads the way.
Of all the Persian forces, one strong squadron,
[Alarms continued.
In which Cosroe in his own person fights,
Stands firm, and yet unrouted: Break through that,
The day and all is ours.
[Retreat sounded.
Victory, victory
[Exeunt. Flourish.