n,
He may well claim a worthy Gentlewoman,
Though she were yours, and Noble.

_Lyg_.

I grant all that too: but this wretched fellow
Reaches no further than the empty name
That serves to feed him; were he valiant,
Or had but in him any noble nature
That might hereafter promise him a good man,
My cares were so much lighter, and my grave
A span yet from me.

_Mar_.

I confess such fellows
Be in all Royal Camps, and have and must be,
To make the sin of Coward more detested
In the mean souldier that with such a foil
Sets off much valour. By description
I should now guess him to you, it was _Bessus_,
I dare almost with confidence pronounce it.

_Lyg_.

'Tis such a scurvie name as _Bessus_, and now I think 'tis he.

_Mar_.

Captain do you call him?
Believe me Sir, you have a misery
Too mighty for your age: A pox upon him,
For that must be the end of all his service:
Your Daughter was not mad Sir?

_Lyg_.

No, would she had been,
The fault had had more credit: I would do something.

_Mar_.

I would fain counsel you, but to what I know not, he's so below a
beating, that the Women find him not worthy of their Distaves,
and to hang him were to cast away a Rope; he's such an Airie,
thin unbodyed Coward, that no revenge can catch him: I'le tell
you Sir, and tell you truth; this Rascal fears neither God nor
man, he has been so beaten: sufferance has made him Wainscot: he
has had since he was first a slave, at least three hundred
Daggers set in's head, as little boys do new Knives in hot meat,
there's not a Rib in's body o' my Conscience that has not been
thrice broken with dry beating: and now his sides look like two
Wicker Targets, every way bended; Children will shortly take him
for a Wall, and set their Stone-bows in his forehead, he is of so
base a sense, I cannot in a week imagine what shall be done to
him.

_Lyg_.

Sure I have committed some great sin
That this fellow should be made my Rod,
I would see him, but I shall have no patience.

_Mar_.

'Tis no great matter if you have not: if a Laming of him, or
such a toy may do you pleasure Sir, he has it for you, and I'le
help you to him: 'tis no news to him to have a Leg broken, or
Shoulder out, with being turn'd o'th' stones like a Tansie: draw
not your Sword if you love it; for on my Conscience his head will
break it: we use him i'th' Wars like a Ram t