_Bac_.
Not that I have beaten you, but beaten one that will be beaten:
one whose dull body will require a laming, as Surfeits do the
diet, spring and fall; now to your Sword-men; what come they for,
good Captain Stock-fish?
_Bes_.
It seems your Lordship has forgot my name.
_Bac_.
No, nor your nature neither, though they are things fitter I must
confess for any thing, than my remembrance, or any honest mans:
what shall these Billets do; be pil'd up in my wood-yard?
_Bes_.
Your Lordship holds your mirth still, Heaven continue it: but for
these Gentlemen, they come--
_Bac_.
To swear you are a Coward, spare your book, I do believe it.
_Bes_.
Your Lordship still draws wide, they come to vouch under their
valiant hands I am no Coward.
_Bac_.
That would be a show indeed worth seeing: sirra be wise, and take
Mony for this motion, travel with it, and where the name of
_Bessus_ has been known or a good Coward stirring, 'twill yield
more than a tilting. This will prove more beneficial to you, if
you be thrifty, than your Captainship, and more natural: men of
most valiant hands is this true?
_2 Sword_.
It is so, most renowned.
_Bac_.
'Tis somewhat strange.
_1 Sword_.
Lord, it is strange, yet true; we have examined from your
Lordships foot there, to this mans head, the nature of the
beatings; and we do find his honour is come off clean and
sufficient: this as our swords shall help us.
_Bac_.
You are much bound to your Bil-bow-men, I am glad you are
straight again Captain; 'twere good you would think on some way
to gratifie them, they have undergone a labour for you, _Bessus_
would have puzl'd _hercules_ with all his valour.
_2 Sword_.
Your Lordship must understand we are no men o'th' Law, that take
pay for our opinions: it is sufficient we have clear'd our
friend.
_Bac_.
Yet there is something due, which I as toucht in Conscience will
discharge Captain; I'le pay this Rent for you.
_Bes_.
Spare your self my good Lord; my brave friends aim at nothing but
the vertue.
_Bac_.
That's but a cold discharge Sir for the pains.
_2 Sword_.
O Lord, my good Lord.
_Bac_.
Be not so modest, I will give you something.
_Bes_.
They shall dine with your Lordship, that's sufficient.
_Bac_.
Something in hand the while, you Rogues, you Apple-squires: do
you come hither with your botled valour, your windy froth, to
limit out my beatings?
_1 Sword_.