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 him, As some god or angel.

Lys.  That god or angel you and I may be to one another. 
We have betwixt us
An hundred men; the citadel you govern: 
What were it now to seize the queen?

Phil.  O impiety! to seize the queen!—­ To seize her, said you?

Lys.  The word might be too rough,—­I meant, secure her.

Phil.  Was this your proposition?—­ And had you none to make it to but me?

Lys.  Pray hear me out, ere you condemn me!—­
I would not the least violence were offered
Her person.  Two small grants is all I ask;
To make me happy in herself, and you
In your Candiope.

Cand.  And will not you do this, my Philocles?—­ Nay, now my brother speaks but reason.

Phil.  Interest makes all seem reason, that leads to it.  Interest, that does the zeal of sects create, To purge a church, and to reform a state.