i'le do a cure on you, stand
up.

_Bes_.

My Lord, this is not Noble in you.

_Bac_.

What dost thou with such a phrase in thy mouth? I will kick thee
out of all good words before I leave thee.

_Bes_.

My Lord, I take this as a punishment for the offence I did when I
was a Coward.

_Bac_.

When thou wert? Confess thy self a Coward still, or by this
light, I'le beat thee into Spunge.

_Bes_.

Why I am one.

_Bac_.

Are you so Sir? And why do you wear a Sword then?
Come unbuckle.

_Bes_.

My Lord.

_Bac_.

Unbuckle I say, and give it me, or as I live, thy head will ake
extreamly.

_Bes_.

It is a pretty Hilt, and if your Lordship take an affection to
it, with all my heart I present it to you for a New-years-gift.

_Bac_.

I thank you very heartily, sweet Captain, farewel.

_Bes_.

One word more, I beseech your Lordship to render me my knife
again.

_Bac_.

Marry by all means Captain; cherish your self with it, and eat
hard, good Captain; we cannot tell whether we shall have any more
such: Adue dear Captain.

[_Exit_ Bac.

_Bes_.

I will make better use of this, than of my Sword: A base spirit
has this vantage of a brave one, it keeps alwayes at a stay,
nothing brings it down, not beating. I remember I promis'd the
King in a great Audience, that I would make my back-biters eat my
sword to a knife; how to get another sword I know not, nor know
any means left for me to maintain my credit, but impudence:
therefore I will out-swear him and all his followers, that this
is all that's left uneaten of my sword.

[_Exit_ Bessus.

_Enter_ Mardonius.

_Mar_.

I'le move the King, he is most strangely alter'd; I guess the
cause I fear too right, Heaven has some secret end in't, and 'tis
a scourge no question justly laid upon him: he has followed me
through twenty Rooms; and ever when I stay to wait his command,
he blushes like a Girl, and looks upon me, as if modesty kept in
his business: so turns away from me, but if I go on, he follows
me again.

_Enter_ Arbaces.

See, here he is. I do not use this, yet I know not how, I cannot
chuse but weep to see him; his very Enemies I think, whose wounds
have bred his fame, if they should see him now, would find tears
i'their eyes.

_Arb_.

I cannot utter it,