Fal. But must you needs do this, needs fight, Cleontius?
Cle. Yes, by all means, I find my self inclin’d to’t.
Fal. You shall have your desire, Sir, farewel.
Cle. When, and where?
Fal. Faith, very suddenly, for I think it will not be
Hard to find men of your trade,
Men that will fight as long as you can do,
And Men that love it much better than I,
Men that are poor and damn’d, fine desperate Rogues,
Rascals that for a Pattacoon a Man
Will fight their Fathers,
And kiss their Mothers into peace again:
Such, Sir, I think will fit you.
Cle. Abusive Coward, hast thou no sense of honour?
Fal. Sense of honour! ha, ha, ha, poor Cleontius.
Enter Aminta and Olinda.
Am. How now, Servant, why so jovial?
Fal. I was laughing, Madam—at—