Inur'd to blood and rapine, bear her off.

 Fab. What! when the gang of outlaw'd Thiery

   Rush'd on her chariot, near the wood of Zart,

   Was he the unknown youth, who succour'd her

   All good betide him for it.

 Jaq. Yes, 'twas he.

   From one tame wretch he snatch'd a half-drawn sword,

   And dealt swift vengeance on the ruffian crew.

   Two, at his feet stretch'd dead, the rest, amaz'd,

   Fled, muttering curses, while he bore her back,

   Unhurt, but by her fears.

 Fab. He should be worshipp'd,

   Have statues rais'd to him; for, by my life,

   I think, there does not breathe another like her.

   It makes me young, to see her lovely eyes:

   Such charity! such sweet benevolence!

   So fair, and yet so humble! prais'd for ever,

   Nay, wonder'd at, for nature's rarest gifts,

   Yet lowlier than the lowest.

 Jaq. Is it strange,

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