Mir. he shall make good his promise t’increase thy Farm, Andrew
Or Ile jeere him to death, feare nothing Lilly,
I am thy Champion.  This jeast goes to Charles,
And then Ile hunt him out, and Monsieur Eustace
The gallant Courtier, and laugh heartily
To see’m mourne together. And. Twill be rare, Sir. Exeunt.

Actus 5.  Scaena 1.

      Eustace, Egremont.  Cowsy.

Turn’d out of doores and baffled! Egre. We share with you
In the affront. Cow. Yet beare it not like you
With such dejection. Eust. My Coach and horses made
The ransome of our cowardize. Lew. Cow. Pish, that’s nothing,
Tis Damnum reparabile, and soone recover’d.

Egre. It is but feeding a suitor with false hopes, And after squeeze him with a dozen of oathes.  You are new rigg’d, and this no more remembred.

Eust. And does the Court that should be the example
And Oracle of the Kingdome, read to us
No other doctrine! Egre. None that thrives so well
As that, within my knowledge. Cow. Flatterie rubbes out,
But since great men learne to admire themselves,
Tis something crest-falne. Egre. To be of no Religion,
Argues a subtle moral understanding,
And it is often cherisht. Eust. Pietie then,
And valour, nor to doe nor suffer wrong,
Are they no vertues? Egre. Rather vices, Eustace;
Fighting!  What’s fighting?  It may be in fashion,
Among Provant swords, and buffe-jerkin men: 
But w’us that swim in choice of silkes and Tissues;
Though in defence of that word reputation,
Which is indeed a kind of glorious nothing,
To lose a dram of blood must needs appeare
As coarse as to be honest. Eust. And all this
You seriously beleeve. Cow. It is a faith,
That we will die in, since from the black guard
To the grim Sir in office, there are few
Hold other Tenets. Eust. [N]ow my eyes are open,
And I behold a strong necessity
That keepes me knave and coward. Cow. Y’are the wiser.

Eust. Nor can I change my copy, if I purpose To be of your society. Egre. By no meanes.

Eust. Honour is nothing with you? Cow. A meere bubble, For what’s growne common, is no more regarded.

Eust. My sword forc’d from me too, and still detain’d, You think’s no blemish. Egre. Get me a battoone?  Tis twenty times more courtlike, and less trouble.

Eust. And yet you weare a sword. Cow. Yes, and a good one, A Millan hilt, and a Damasco blade, For ornament, no use the Court allowes it.

Eust. Wil’t not fight of it selfe? Cow. I nere tri’d this,
Yet I have worne as faire as any man,
I’me sure I’ve made my Cutler rich, and paid
For several weapons, Turkish and Toledo’s,
Two thousand Crownes, and yet could never light
Upon a fighting one. Eust. Ile borrow this,
I like it well. Cow. Tis at your service Sir,
A lath in a velvet scabbard will serve my turne.