Tim.  There’s not a handsom wench of any mettle
Within an hundred miles, but her intelligence
Reaches her, and out-reaches her, and brings her
As confidently to Court, as to a sanctuary: 
What had his mouldy brains ever arriv’d at,
Had not she beaten it out o’th’ Flint to fasten him? 
They say she keeps an office of Concealments: 
There is no young wench, let her be a Saint,
Unless she live i’th’ Center, but she finds her,
And every way prepares addresses to her: 
If my wife would have followed her course Charinthus,
Her lucky course, I had the day before him: 
O what might I have been by this time, Brother? 
But she (forsooth) when I put these things to her,
These things of honest thrift, groans, O my conscience,
The load upon my conscience, when to make us cuckolds,
They have no more burthen than a brood-[goose], Brother;
But let’s doe what we can, though this wench fail us,
Another of a new way will be lookt at: 
Come, let’s abroad, and beat our brains, time may
For all his wisdom, yet give us a day. [Exeunt.

SCENA II.

Drum within, Alarm, Enter Demetrius, and Leontius.

Dem.  I will not see ’em fall thus, give me way Sir, I shall forget you love me else.

Leo.  Will ye lose all? 
For me to be forgotten, to be hated,
Nay never to have been a man, is nothing,
So you, and those we have preserv’d from slaughter
Come safely off.

Dem.  I have lost my self.

Leo.  You are cozen’d.

Dem.  And am most miserable.

Leo.  There’s no man so, but he that makes himself so.

Dem.  I will goe on.

Leo.  You must not:  I shall tell you then,
And tell you true, that man’s unfit to govern,
That cannot guide himself:  you lead an Army? 
That have not so much manly suff’rance left ye,
To bear a loss?

Dem.  Charge but once more Leontius, My friends and my companions are engag’d all.

Leo.  Nay give ’em lost, I saw ’em off their horses, And the enemy master of their Arms; nor could then The policie, nor strength of man redeem ’em.

Dem.  And shall I know this, and stand fooling?

Leo.  By my dead Fathers soul you stir not, Sir, Or if you doe, you make your way through me first.

Dem.  Thou art a Coward.

Leo.  To prevent a Madman. 
None but your Fathers Son, durst call me so,
’Death if he did—­Must I be scandal’d by ye,
That hedg’d in all the helps I had to save ye? 
That, where there was a valiant weapon stirring,
Both search’d it out, and singl’d it, unedg’d it,
For fear it should bite you, am I a coward? 
Go, get ye up, and tell ’em ye are the Kings Son;
Hang all your Ladys favours on your Crest,