HUBBA.
Let come what will, I mean to bear it out,
And either live with glorious victory,
Or die with fame renowned for chivalry.
He is not worthy of the honey comb,
That shuns the hives because the bees have stings:
That likes me best that is not got with ease,
Which thousand dangers do accompany;
For nothing can dismay our regal mind,
Which aims at nothing but a golden crown,
The only upshot of mine enterprises.
Were they enchanted in grim Pluto's court,
And kept for treasure mongst his hellish crew,
I would either quell the triple Cerberus
And all the army of his hateful hags,
Or roll the stone with wretched Sisiphos.

HUMBER.
Right martial be thy thoughts my noble son,
And all thy words savour of chivalry.--

[Enter Segar.]

But warlike Segar, what strange accidents
Makes you to leave the warding of the camp.

SEGAR.
To arms, my Lord, to honourable arms!
Take helm and targe in hand; the Brittains come,