Leo. Here’s one has served now under Captain Cupid, And crackt a Pike in’s youth:  you see what’s come on’t.

Lieu. No, my disease will never prove so honourable.

Leo. Why sure, thou hast the best pox.

Lieu. If I have ’em, I am sure I got ’em in the best company; They are pox of thirty Coats.

Leo. Thou hast mewed ’em finely: 
Here’s a strange fellow now, and a brave fellow,
If we may say so of a pocky fellow,
(Which I believe we may) this poor Lieutenant;
Whether he have the scratches, or the scabs,
Or what a Devil it be, I’le say this for him,
There fights no braver souldier under Sun, Gentlemen;
Show him an Enemie, his pain’s forgot straight;
And where other men by beds and bathes have ease,
And easie rules of Physick; set him in a danger,
A danger, that’s a fearfull one indeed,
Ye rock him, and he will so play about ye,
Let it be ten to one he ne’er comes off again,
Ye have his heart:  and then he works it bravely,
And throughly bravely:  not a pang remembre’d: 
I have seen him do such things, belief would shrink at.

Gent. ’Tis strange he should do all this, and diseas’d so.

Leo. I am sure ’tis true:  Lieutenant, canst thou drink well?

Lieu. Would I were drunk, dog-drunk, I might not feel this backward?

Gent. I would take Physick.

Lieu. But I would know my disease first.

Leon. Why? it may be the Colique:  canst thou blow

Lieu. There’s never a bag-pipe in the Kingdom better.

Gent. Is’t not a pleuresie?

Lieu. ’Tis any thing That has the Devil, and death in’t:  will ye march Gentlemen?  The Prince has taken leave.

Leo. How know ye that?

Lieu. I saw him leave the Court, dispatch his followers,
And met him after in a by street:  I think
He has some wench, or such a toy, to lick over
Before he go:  would I had such another
To draw this foolish pain down.

Leo. Let’s away Gentlemen, For sure the Prince will stay on us.

Gent. We’l attend Sir. [Exeunt.

SCENA II.

Enter Demetrius, and Celia.

Cel.  Must ye needs go?

Dem.  Or stay with all dishonour.

Cel.  Are there not men enough to fight?

Dem.  Fie Celia.  This ill becomes the noble love you bear me; Would you have your love a coward?

Cel.  No; believe Sir, I would have him fight, but not so far off from me.

Dem.  Wouldst have it thus? or thus?

Cel.  If that be fighting—­

Dem.  Ye wanton fool:  when I come home again I’le fight with thee, at thine own weapon Celia, And conquer thee too.