ride you the better, _Lilly_.

_And_. We'll teach him to meddle with Scholars.

_Mir_. He shall make good his promise t'increase thy Farm, _Andrew_, or
I'll jeer him to death. Fear nothing, _Lilly_, I am thy Champion. This
jeast goes to _Charles_, and then I'll hunt him out, and Monsieur
_Eustace_ the gallant Courtier, and laugh heartily to see 'em mourn
together.

_And_. 'Twill be rare, Sir. [_Exeunt_.

_ACTUS QUINTUS. SCENA PRIMA._

_Enter_ Eustace, Egremont, Cowsy.

_Eust_. Turn'd out of doors and baffled!

_Egre_. We share with you in the affront.

_Cow_. Yet bear it not like you with such dejection.

_Eust_. My Coach and Horses made the ransom of our Cowardize!

_Cow_. Pish, that's nothing, 'tis _damnum reparabile_, and soon recover'd.

_Egre_. It is but feeding a Suitor with false hopes, and after squeeze him
with a dozen of Oaths, You are new rigg'd, and this no more remembred.

_Eust_. And does the Court, that should be the Example and Oracle of the
Kingdom, read to us no other Doctrine?

_Egre_. None that thrives so well as that, within my knowledge.

_Cow_. Flattery rubs out; but since great men learn to admire themselves,
'tis something crest-faln.

_Egre_. To be of no Religion, argues a subtle, moral understanding, and it
is often cherish'd.

_Eust_. Piety then, and valour, nor to do and suffer wrong, are they no
virtues?

_Egre_. Rather vices, _Eustace_; Fighting! what's fighting? it may be in
fashion among provant swords, and Buff-jerkin men: But w'us that swim in
choice of Silks and Tissues; though in defence of that word Reputation,
which is indeed a kind of glorious nothing, to lose a dram of blood must
needs appear as coarse as to be honest.

_Eust_. And all this you seriously believe?

_Cow_. It is a faith that we will die in, since from the black Guard to
the grim Sir in Office, there are few hold other Tenets.

_Eust_. Now my eyes are open, and I behold a strong necessity that keeps
me knave and coward.

_Cow_. Y'are the wiser.

_Eust_. Nor can I change my copy, if I purpose to be of your society.

_Egre_. By no means.

_Eust_. Honour is nothing with you?

_Cow_. A meer bubble; for what's grown common, is no more regarded.

_Eust_. My sword forc'd from me too, and still detain'd, you think 'tis no
blemish.

_Egre_. Get me a Batton, 'tis twenty times more Court-like, and less
trouble.

_Eust_. And yet you wear a sword.

_Cow. Yes, and a good one, a _M