MEN.  Ah! here’s a youth stark naught at a trench, but an old dog at a trencher, a tall squire at a square table. [Aside.]

APP.  But now my good masters must pardon me; I am not one for their service, for their service is without service, and indeed their service is too hot for my diet.  But what, if I be not myself, but only this be my spirit that wanders up and down, and Appetitus be killed in the camp? the devil he is as soon.  How’s that possible? tut, tut, I know I am.  I am Appetitus, and alive, too—­by this infallible token, that I feel myself hungry.

MEN.  Thou mightest have taken a better token of thyself, by knowing thou art a fool. [Aside.]

APP.  Well, then, though I made my fellow-soldiers admire the beauty of my back, and wonder at the nimbleness of my heels, yet now will I, at safety at home, tell in what dangers they are in abroad.  I’ll speak nothing but guns and glaves,[203] and staves and phalanges,[204] and squadrons and barricadoes, ambuscadoes, palmedoes, blank-point, demi-point,[205] counterpoint, counterscarp, sallies and lies, saladoes, tarantantaras, ranta, tara, tara, hey.

MEN.  I must take the fife out of his mouth, or he’ll ne’er ha’ done.
          
                                                 [Aside.]

APP.  But, above all, I’ll be sure on my knees to thank the great—­

[MENDACIO blinds him.

MEN.  Who am I, who am I, who I?

APP.  By the blood-stained falchion of Mavors,[206] I am on your side.

MEN.  Why, who am I?

APP.  Are you a soldier?

MEN.  No.

APP.  Then you are Master Helluo the bearward.

MEN.  No, no; he’s dead.

APP.  Or Gulono the gutty serjeant, or Delphino the vintner, or else I know you not; for these are all my acquaintance.

MEN.  Would I were hanged, if I be any of these!

APP.  What, Mendacio!  By the faith of a knight, thou art welcome; I must borrow thy whetstone, to sharpen the edges of my martial compliments.

MEN.  By the faith of a knight!  What a pox, where are thy spurs?[207]

APP.  I need no spurs; I ride, like Pegasus, on a winged horse—­on a swift jennet, my boy, called Fear.

MEN.  What shouldst thou fear in the wars?  He’s not a good soldier that hath not a good stomach.

APP.  O, but the stink of powder spoils Appetitus’s stomach, and then thou knowest, when ’tis gone, Appetitus is dead; therefore I very manfully drew my sword, and flourished it bravely about mine ears, hist![208] and finding myself hurt, most manfully ran away.

MEN.  All heart indeed, for thou rann’st like a hart out of the field.  It seems, then, the Senses mean to fight it out.

APP.  Ay, and outfight themselves, I think; and all about a trifle, a paltry bauble found, I know not where.

MEN.  Thou art deceived:  they fight for more than that; a thing called superiority, of which the crown is but an emblem.