se we have preserv'd from slaughter
Come safely off.

_Dem_. I have lost my self.

_Leo_. You are cozen'd.

_Dem_. And am most miserable.

_Leo_. There's no man so, but he that makes himself so.

_Dem_. I will goe on.

_Leo_. You must not: I shall tell you then,
And tell you true, that man's unfit to govern,
That cannot guide himself: you lead an Army?
That have not so much manly suff'rance left ye,
To bear a loss?

_Dem_. Charge but once more _Leontius_,
My friends and my companions are engag'd all.

_Leo_. Nay give 'em lost, I saw 'em off their horses,
And the enemy master of their Arms; nor could then
The policie, nor strength of man redeem 'em.

_Dem_. And shall I know this, and stand fooling?

_Leo_. By my dead Fathers soul you stir not, Sir,
Or if you doe, you make your way through me first.

_Dem_. Thou art a Coward.

_Leo_. To prevent a Madman.
None but your Fathers Son, durst call me so,
'Death if he did--Must I be scandal'd by ye,
That hedg'd in all the helps I had to save ye?
That, where there was a valiant weapon stirring,
Both search'd it out, and singl'd it, unedg'd it,
For fear it should bite you, am I a coward?
Go, get ye up, and tell 'em ye are the Kings Son;
Hang all your Ladys favours on your Crest,
And let them fight their shares; spur to destruction,
You cannot miss the way: be bravely desperate,
And your young friends before ye, that lost this battel,
Your honourable friends, that knew no order,
Cry out, _Antigonus_, the old _Antigonus_,
The wise and fortunate _Antigonus_,
The great, the valiant, and the fear'd _Antigonus_,
Has sent a desperate son, without discretion
To bury in an hour his age of honour.

_Dem_. I am ashamed.

_Leo_. 'Tis ten to one, I die with ye:
The coward will not long be after ye;
I scorn to say I saw you fall, sigh for ye,
And tell a whining tale, some ten years after
To boyes and girles in an old chimney corner,
Of what a Prince we had, how bravely spirited;
How young and fair he fell: we'l all go with ye,
And ye shall see us all, like sacrifices
In our best trim, fill up the mouth of ruine.
Will this faith satisfie your folly? can this show ye
'Tis not to die we fear, but to die poorly,
To fall, forgotten, in a multitude?
If you will needs tempt fortune now she has held ye,
Held ye from sinking up.

_Dem_. Pray do not kill me,
These words pierce deeper than the wounds I suffer,
The smarting wounds of loss.

_Leo_. Ye are too tender;
For