SCENA III.
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Enter Lieutenant, and Leontius, Drums within.
Leo. You shall not have your will, sirrah, are ye running? Have ye gotten a toy in your heels? Is this a season, When honour pricks ye on, to prick your ears up, After your whore, your Hobby-horse?
Lieu. Why look ye now: What a strange man are you? would you have a man fight At all hours all alike?
Leo. Do but fight something; But half a blow, and put thy stomach to't: Turn but thy face, and do-make mouths at 'em.
Lieu. And have my teeth knockt out; I thank ye heartily, Ye are my dear friend.
Leo. What a devil ails thee? Dost long to be hang'd?
Lieu. Faith Sir, I make no suit for't: But rather Fhan I would live thus out of charity, Continually in brawling—
Leo. Art thou not he? I may be cosen'd—
Lieu, I shall be discover'd.
Leo. That in the midst of thy most hellish pains, When thou wert crawling sick, didst aim at wonders, When thou wert mad with pain?
Lieu. Ye have found the cause out; I had ne're been mad to fight else: I confess Sir, The daily torture of my side that vext me, Made me as daily careless what became of me, Till a kind sword there wounded me, and eas'd me; 'Twas nothing in my valour fought; I am well now, And take some pleasure in my life, methinks now, It shews as mad a thing to me to see you scuffle, And kill one another foolishly for honour, As 'twas to you, [t]o see me play the coxcomb.
Leo. And wilt thou ne're fight more?
Lieu. I'th' mind I am in.
Leo. Nor never be sick again?
Lieu. I hope I shall not.
Leo. Prethee be sick again: prethee, I beseech thee, Be just so sick again.
Lieu. I'le just be hang'd first.
Leo. If all the Arts that are can make a Colique, Therefore look to't: or if imposthumes, mark me, As big as foot-balls—
Lieu. Deliver me.
Leo. Or stones of ten pound weight i'th' kidneys, Through ease and ugly dyets may be gather'd; I'le feed ye up my self Sir, I'le prepare ye, You cannot fight, unless the Devil tear ye, You shall not want provocations, I'le scratch ye, I'le have thee have the tooth-ach, and the head-ach.
Lieu. Good Colonel, I'le doe any thing.
Leo. No, no, nothing— Then will I have thee blown with a pair of Smiths bellows, Because ye shall be sure to have a round gale with ye, Fill'd full of oyle o'Devil, and Aqua-fortis, And let these work, these may provoke.
Lieu. Good Colonel.
Leo. A coward in full bloud; prethee be plain with me, Will roasting doe thee any good?
Lieu. Nor basting neither, Sir.
Leo. Marry that goes hard.
Enter 1 Gentleman.
1 Gent. Where are you Colonel? The Prince experts ye Sir; h'as hedg'd the enemy Within a streight, where all the hopes and valours Of all men living cannot force a passage, He has 'em now.
Leo. I knew all this before Sir, I chalk'd him out his way: but do you see that thing there?
Lieu. Nay good sweet Colonel, I'le fight a little.
Leo. That thing?
1 Gent. What thing? I see the brave Lieutenant.
Leo. Rogue, what a name hast thou lost?
Lieu. You may help it, Yet you may help't: I'le doe ye any courtesie: I know you love a wench well.
Enter 2 Gentlemen.
Leo. Look upon him; Do you look too.
2 Gent. What should I look on? I come to tell ye, the Prince stayes your direction, We have 'em now i'th' Coop, Sir.
Leo. Let 'em rest there, And chew upon their miseries: but look first—
Lieu. I cannot fight for all this.
Leo. Look on this fellow.
2 Gent. I know him; 'tis the valiant brave Lieutenant. Leo. Canst thou hear this, and play the Rogue? steal off quickly, Behind me quickly neatly do it, And rush into the thickest of the enemy, And if thou kill'st but two.
Lieu. You may excuse me, 'Tis not my fault: I dare not fight.
Leo. Be rul'd yet, I'le beat thee on; goe wink and fight: a plague upon your sheeps heart.
2 Gent. What's all this matter?
1 Gent. Nay I cannot shew ye.
Leo. Here's twenty pound, goe but smell to 'em.
Lieu. Alas Sir, I have taken such a cold I can smell nothing.
Leo. I can smell a Rascal, a rank Rascal: Fye, how he stinks, stinks like a tyred Jade.
2 Gent. What Sir?
Leo. Why, that Sir, do not you smell him?
2 Gent. Smell him?
Lieu. I must endure.
Leo. Stinks like a dead Dog, Carrion— There's no such damnable smell under Heaven, As the faint sweat of a Coward: will ye fight yet?
Lieu. Nay, now I defie ye; ye have spoke the worst ye can Of me, and if every man should take what you say To the heart.—
Leo. God ha' Mercy, God ha' Mercy with all my heart; here I forgive thee; And fight, or fight not, do but goe along with us, And keep my Dog.
Lieu. I love a good Dog naturally.
1 Gent. What's all this stir, Lieutenant?
Lieu. Nothing Sir, But a slight matter of argument.
Leo. Pox take thee. Sure I shall love this Rogue, he's so pretty a Coward. Come Gentlemen, let's up now, and if fortune Dare play the slut again, I'le never more Saint her, Come play-fellow, come, prethee come up; come chicken, I have a way shall fit yet: A tame knave, Come, look upon us.
Lieu. I'le tell ye who does best boyes. [Exeunt.