nd a bout 'em and still view their faces,
Round about yet; See how death waits upon 'em,
For thou shall never view 'em more. _Eust._ Pray hold, Sir.

_Cha._ I cannot hold, you stand so fair before me,
I must not hold 'twill darken all my glories.
Goe to my Uncle, bid him poste to the King,
And get my pardon instantly, I have need on't.

_Eust._ Are you so unnatural? _Cha._ You shall die last Sir,
Ile talke thee dead, thou art no man to fight with.
Come, will ye come? me thinkes I've fought whole battailes.

_Cow_. We have no quarel to you, that we know on, Sir.

_Egre_. Wee'l quit the house and ask ye mercie too:
Good Ladie, let no murther be done here;
We came but to parly. _Cha_. How my sword
Thirsts after them? stand away Sweet. _Eust._ Pray Sir,
Take my submission, and I disclaime for ever.

_Cha_. Away ye poore things, ye despicable Creatures!
Doe you come poste to fetch a Ladie from me,
From a poore Schoole-boy that ye scorn'd of late?
And grow lame in your hearts when you should execute?
Pray take her, take her, I am weary of her;
What did ye bring to carrie her. _Egre_. A Coach and four horses.

_Cha_. But are they good? _Egre_. As good as _France_ can shew Sir.

_Cha_. Are you willing to leave those, and take your safeties?
Speak quickly. _Eust_. Yes with all our hearts. _Cha_. Tis done then.
Many have got one horse, I've got foure by th' bargaine.

_Enter_ Miramont.

_Mi._ How Now, who's here. _Ser_. Nay Now, y'are gon without bail.

_Mir_. What, drawne my friends! Fetch me my two-hand sword;
I will not leave a head on your shoulders, Wretches.

_Eust_. In troth Sir, I came but to doe my dutie.

_Both_. And we to renew our loves. _Mir_. Bring me a blanket.
What came they for? _Ang_. To borrow me a while, Sir;
But one that never fought yet has so curried,
So bastina[d]o'd them with manly carriage,
They stand like things _Gorgon_ had turn'd to stone;
They watch'd your being absent, and then thought
They might doe wonders here, and they have done so?
For by my troth, I wonder at their coldness,
The nipping North or frost never came neere them,
St. _George_ upon a Signe would grow more sensible:
If the name of honour were for ever to be lost,
These were the most sufficient men to doe it
In all the world, and yet they are but young,
What will they rise to? They're as full of fire
As a frozen Glo-wormes ratle, and shine as goodly;
Nobilitie and patience are match'd rarely
In t