And not acts; when neither warbling voice Shall warble round the snowy head, and keep As guardians round your chair; then shall the pulse Beat slow, and taste, and touch, and sight, and sound, and smell, That sing and dance round Reason's fine-wrought throne, Shall flee away, and leave him all forlorn; Yet not forlorn if Conscience is his friend. [Exeunt. SCENE. In Sir Thomas Dagworth's Tent. Dagworth and William his man. B DAGWORTH. RING hither my armour, William ; Ambition is the growth of every clime. WILLIAM. Does it grow in England, sir? DAGWORTH. Ay, it grows most in lands most cultivated. WILLIAM. Then it grows most in France; the vines here DAGWORTH. Ay, but the oaks are not. WILLIAM. What is the tree you mentioned? I don't think Ambition. DAGWORTH. WILLIAM. Is it a little creeping root that grows in ditches? DAGWORTH. Thou dost not understand me, William. It is a root that grows in every breast; Ambition is the desire or passion that one man Has to get before another, in any pursuit after glory; But I don't think you have any of it. WILLIAM. Yes, I have; I have a great ambition to know everything, sir. DAGWORTH. But when our first ideas are wrong, what follows must all be wrong, of course; 'tis best to know a little, and to know that little aright. WILLIAM. Then, sir, I should be glad to know if it was not ambition that brought over our king to France to fight for his right? DAGWORTH. Though the knowledge of that will not profit thee much, yet I will tell you that it was ambition. WILLIAM. Then if ambition is a sin, we are all guilty in coming with him, and in fighting for him. DAGWORTH. Now, William, thou dost thrust the question home; but I must tell you that guilt being an act of the mind, none are guilty but those whose minds are prompted by that same ambition. WILLIAM. Now, I always thought that a man might be guilty of doing wrong without knowing it was wrong. DAGWORTH. Thou art a natural philosopher, and knowest truth by instinct; while reason runs aground, as we have run our argument. Only remember, William, all have it in their power to know the motives of their own actions, and 'tis a sin to act without some reason. WILLIAM. And whoever acts without reason may do a great deal of harm without knowing it. DAGWORTH. Thou art an endless moralist. WILLIAM. Now there's a story come into my head, that I will tell your honour, if you'll give me leave. DAGWORTH. No, William, save it till another time; this is no time for story-telling; but here comes one who is as entertaining as a good story. Enter Peter Blunt. PETER. Yonder's a musician going to play before the ing; it's a new song about the French and English, and the Prince has made the minstrel a squire, and given him I don't know what, and I can't tell whether he don't mention us all one by one ; and he is to write another about all us that are to die, that we may be remembered in Old England, for all our blood and bones are in France; and a great deal more that we shall all hear by and by; and I came to tell your honour, because you love to hear war-songs. DAGWORTH. And who is this minstrel, Peter, dost know? PETER. O ay, I forgot to tell that; he has got the same name as Sir John Chandos, that the Prince is always with the wise man that knows us all as well as your honour, only ain't so good-natured. DAGWORTH. I thank you, Peter, for your information, but not for your compliment, which is not true: there's as |