Bas. Put up your swords, my friends, it must not be.
I thank your zeal, I'll deal with them alone.
Ros. What, shall we calmly stand and see thee butcher'd?
Bas. (very earnestly.) Put up, my friends.
(Officers still persist.) What are you rebels too?
Will no one here his gen'ral's voice obey?
I do command you to put up your swords.
Retire, and at a distance wait th' event.
Obey, or henceforth be no friends of mine.
(Officers retire, very unwillingly. Basil waves them off with his hand till they are all gone, then walks up to the front of his Soldiers, who still hold themselves in a threatening posture.)
Soldiers! we've fought together in the field,
And bravely fought: i' the face of horrid death
At honour's call I've led you dauntless on;
Nor do I know the man of all your bands,
That ever poorly from the trial shrunk,
Or yielded to the foe contended space.
Am I the meanest then of all my troops,
That thus ye think, with base unmanly threats,
To move me now? Put up those paltry weapons;
They edgeless are to him who fears them not:
Rocks have been shaken from the solid base;
But what shall move a firm and dauntless mind?
Put up your swords, or dare the threaten'd deed—
Obey, or murder me.
