_Mar_.
His fit begins to take him now again,
'Tis a strange Feaver, and 'twill shake us all anon, I fear,
Would he were well cur'd of this raging folly:
Give me the warrs, where men are mad, and may talk what they
list, and held the bravest fellows; This pelting prating peace is
good for nothing: drinking's a vertue to't.
_Arb_.
I see there's truth in no man, nor obedience,
But for his own ends, why did you let her in?
_Bac_.
It was your own command to barr none from him,
Besides, the Princess sent her ring Sir, for my warrant.
_Arb_.
A token to _Tigranes_, did she not?
Sir tell truth.
_Bac_.
I do not use to lie Sir,
'Tis no way I eat or live by, and I think,
This is no token Sir.
_Mar_.
This combat has undone him: if he had been well beaten, he had
been temperate; I shall never see him handsome again, till he
have a Horse-mans staffe yok'd thorow his shoulders, or an arm
broken with a bullet.
_Arb_.