3. SCENE III. Another part of the forest.
I would be sorry, my lord, but it should be thus: I never knew yet
but rebuke and check was the reward of valour. Do you think me a
swallow, an arrow, or a bullet? have I, in my poor and old motion,
the expedition of thought? I have speeded hither with the very
extremest inch of possibility; I have foundered nine score and odd
posts: and here, travel-tainted as I am, have, in my pure and
immaculate valour, taken Sir John Colevile of the dale, a most furious
knight and valorous enemy. But what of that? he saw me, and yielded;
that I may justly say, with the hook-nosed fellow of Rome, "I came,
saw, and overcame."
It was more of his courtesy than your deserving.
I know not: here he is, and here I yield him: and I beseech your
grace, let it be booked with the rest of this day's deeds; or, by the
Lord, I will have it in a particular ballad else, with mine own
picture on the top on't, Colevile kissing my foot: to the which
course if I be enforced, if you do not all show like gilt twopences to
me, and I in the clear sky of fame o'ershine you as much as the full
moon doth the cinders of the element, which show like pins' heads to
her, believe not the word of the noble: therefore let me have right,
and let desert mount.
Thine 's too heavy to mount.
Let it shine, then.
Thine 's too thick to shine.
Let it do something, my good lord, that may do me good, and
call it what you will.
Is thy name Colevile?
It is, my lord.
A famous rebel art thou, Colevile.
And a famous true subject took him.