s cannot be so hard, out with it quickly.

_2 Sword_.

Here 'tis Sir, a small piece of Artillery, that a Gentleman a
dear friend of your Lordships sent me with, to get it mended Sir,
for if you mark, the nose is somewhat loose.

_Bac_.

A friend of mine you Rascal? I was never wearier of doing any
thing, than kicking these two Foot-balls.

_Enter_ Servant.

_Serv_.

Here is a good Cudgel Sir.

_Bac_.

It comes too late I'me weary, pray thee do thou beat them.

_2 Sword_.

My Lord, this is foul play i'faith, to put a fresh man upon us,
men are but men Sir.

_Bac_.

That jest shall save your bones; Captain, Rally up your rotten
Regiment and be gone: I had rather thrash than be bound to kick
these Rascals, till they cry'd ho; _Bessus_ you may put your hand
to them now, and then you are quit. Farewel, as you like this,
pray visit me again, 'twill keep me in good health.

[_Exit_ Bac.

_2 Sword_.

H'as a devilish hard foot, I never felt the like.

_1 Sword_.

Nor I, and yet I am sure I have felt a hundred.

_2 Sword_.

If he kick thus i'th' Dog-daies, he will be dry foundred: what
cure now Captain besides Oyl of Baies?

_Bes_.

Why well enough I warrant you, you can go.

_2 Sword_.

Yes, heaven be thanked; but I feel a shrowd ach, sure h'as sprang
my huckle-bone.

_1 Sword_.

I ha' lost a hanch.

_Bes_.

A little butter, friend a little butter, butter and parseley and
a soveraign matter: _probatum est_.

_2 Sword_.

Captain we must request your hand now to our honours.

_Bes_.

Yes marry shall ye, and then let all the world come, we are
valiant to our selves, and there's an end.

_1 Sword_.

Nay then we must be valiant; O my ribs.

_2 Sword_.

O my small guts, a plague upon these sharp-toed shooes, they are
murtherers.

[_Exeunt clear_.

_Enter_ Arbaces _with his sword drawn_.

_Arb_.

It is resolv'd, I bare it whilst I could, I can no more, I must
begin with murther of my friends, and so go on to that incestuous
ravishing, and end my life and sins with a forbidden blow, upon
my self.

_Enter_ Mardonius.

_Mar_.

What Tragedy is near? That hand was never wont to draw a sword,
but it cry'd dead to something.

_Arb_.

_Mardonius_, have you bid _Gobrias_ come?

_Mar_.

How do yo