I ask no more in honour, Gentlemen you hear my Lord is sorry.

_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_.

I do beseech your Lordship.

_2 Sword_.

O good Lord.

_Bac_.

S'foot-what a heavy of beaten slaves are here! get me a Cudgel sirra, and a tough one.

_2 Sword_.

More of your foot, I do beseech your Lordship.

_Bac_.

You shall, you shall dog, and your fellow-beagle.

_1 Sword_.