my thoughts.--
[_Exit_ FLAVIA.
Was ever such amazing news,
Told in so strange and critical a moment?--
What shall I do?--
Does she love Philocles, who loves not her;
And loves not Lysimantes, who prefers her
Above his life?--What rests, but that I take
This opportunity, which she herself
Has given me, to kill this happy rival!--
Assist me, soldiers!

_Phil_. They shall buy me dearly.

_Cand_. Ah me, unhappy maid!

_Enter _CELADON, _with his Friends, unbuttoned and reeling_.

_Cel_. Courage, my noble cousin! I have brought A band of blades,
the bravest youths of Syracuse; Some drunk, some sober, all resolved
to run Your fortune to the utmost.--Fall on, mad boys!

_Lys_. Hold a little!--I'm not secure of victory against these
desperate ruffians.

_Cel_. No, but I'll secure you! They shall cut your throat
for such another word of them. Ruffians, quoth a'! call gamesters,
whoremasters, and drunkards, ruffians!

_Lys_. Pray, gentlemen, fall back a little.

_Cel_. O ho, are they gentlemen now with you!--Speak first to
your gentlemen soldiers to retire; And then I'll speak to my gentlemen
ruffians. [CEL. _signs to his party_. There's your disciplined
men now.--[_They sign, and the Soldiers retire on both sides_.
Come, gentlemen, let's lose no time: While they are talking, let's
have one merry main before we die, for mortality sake.

_1 Fr_. Agreed! here's my cloak for a table.

_2 Fr_. And my hat for a box.

[_They lie down and throw_.

_Lys_. Suppose I killed him!
'Twould but exasperate the queen the more:
He loves not her, nor knows he she loves him:--
sudden thought is come into my head,--
So to contrive it, that this Philocles,
And these his friends, shall bring to pass that for me,
Which I could never compass.--True, I strain
A point of honour; but then her usage to me--
It shall be so.--
Pray, Philocles, command your soldiers off;
As I will mine: I've somewhat to propose,
Which you perhaps may like.

_Can_. I will not leave him.

_Lys_. 'Tis my desire you should not.

_Phil_. Cousin, lead off your friends.

_Cel_. One word in your ear, coz:--Let me advise you, either make
your own conditions, or never agree with him: his men are poor rogues,
they can never stand before us.

[_Exeunt all but_ Lys. Phil. _and_ Cand.

_Lys_. Suppose some friend, ere night,
Should bring you to possess all you desire;
And not so only, but secure forever
The nation's happiness?

_Phil_. I would think of h