[SCENE 3.]

    Enter Captaine and Underwit.

Un.  Stand right to your files, make even your rankes, silence! 
Front to the right hand. 
As you were. 
To the right hand about. 
By the left hand. 
As you were. 
Rankes to the right double. 
Rankes as you were. 
Rankes to the left double. 
Midlemen to the right hand double the front; as you were,—­to the left,
—­double the front; middle-men to the right entire [or[251] by division]
double the front; files to the right,—­to the left,—­to the right hand
countermarch,—­to the right,—­to the left,—­wheele about—­

Cap.  Ran tan:  enough,—­you must not wast your lunges
Too much at once.  March faire and make a Captaine. 
When these words of Command are rotten (rooted?) wee
Will sowe some other military seeds. 
You beare[252] a braine and memory.

Un.  I hope so.

[Cap.[253]] And now you are chose a Captaine for your Countrey
You must give good example to your Soldiers
And cherish nature after exercise: 
You must drinke sack, sack is a fortifier. 
Come, wee’le to the taverne.

Un.  With all my heart.

    [Enter Mr. Courtwell.

Here’s Mr. Courtwell:  lett’s take him with us.

Cap.  My costive Countrey man? hee’s an Anabaptist:  he wonot drinke, and yet kist the Cupp of last night, me thought, when his Mistres—­ drank to him:  wee’le try.  How ist, my man of mortall breeding?

Cou.  My man of warre, trebonn.—­Your servant, Captaine.

Cap.  Why, this was spoke like one of us; canst doo’t
Agen? thy voice is more authentick, soundes
As I have heard a Cavalliers in taverne,
Or like the merry master of the Dragon,
Small Neptune, that controlls the rich Canaries,
When he Comaunds the Tritons of his cellar
’Skud, and bring wine, you varlotts, with a flavour
For my Nobilitie.’  Wee were conspiring
To goe to’th taverne.

Cou.  Ile make one, gentlemen, to wash away some melancholy.

Cap.  Spoke boldlie, like an Argonaute.

Cou.  I am not now in London,
Upon a hall day marching with the puisnes,
Twenty on’s in a teame, to Westminster
In our torne gownes, embroiderd with Strand dirt,
To heare the Law.

Cap.  Is not thy father dead, thou talkst so well?  How I was cosend in thee:  come away.

    Enter Thomas.

Un.  Here’s my man Thomas.

Cap.  Now the Newes, Sir Tristram.

Tho.  Oh the Gentleman is mad.

Un.  What gentleman?

Tho.  Why, Mr. Engine that did faint last night.

Un.  With feare of being hang’d for his projections.

Cou.  My Uncle told me of him.