ACT II. SCENE III. The camp of Albanact.

[Enter Albanact, Debon, Thrasimachus, and the Lords.]

ALBA.
Brave cavalries, princes of Albany,
Whose trenchant blades with our deceased sire,
Passing the frontiers of brave Graecia,
Were bathed in our enemies' lukewarm blood,
Now is the time to manifest your wills,
Your haughty minds and resolutions.
Now opportunity is offered
To try your courage and your earnest zeal,
Which you always protest to Albanact;
For at this time, yea, at this present time,
Stout fugitives, come from the Scithians' bounds,
Have pestered every place with mutinies.
But trust me, Lordings, I will never cease
To persecute the rascal runnagates,
Till all the rivers, stained with their blood,
Shall fully show their fatal overthrow.

DEBON.
So shall your highness merit great renown,
And imitate your aged father's steps.

ALBA.
But tell me, cousin, camest thou through the plains?