Dull. Colonel Downright has hit it; why should we endanger our Men against a desperate Termagant; If he love Wounds and Scars so well, let him exercise on our Enemies—but if he will needs fall upon us, ’tis then time enough for us to venture our Lives and Fortunes.
Tim. How, we go to Bacon! under favour, I think ’tis his duty to come to us, an you go to that, Gads zoors.
Friend. If he do, ’twill cost you dear, I doubt, Cornet.—I find by our List, Sir, we are four thousand Men.
Tim. Gads zoors, not enough for a Breakfast for that insatiate Bacon, and his two Lieutenant Generals, Fearless and Daring. Whiff sits on the Ground with a Bottle of Brandy.
Whim. A Morsel, a Morsel.
Well. I am for an attack, what say you, Gentlemen, to an attack?—What, silent all? What say you, Major?
Dull. I say, Sir, I hope my Courage was never in dispute. But, Sir, I am going to marry Colonel Downright’s Daughter here—and should I be slain in this Battle ’twould break her Heart;—besides, Sir, I should lose her Fortune. Speaks big.
Well. I’m sure here’s a Captain will never flinch. To Whim.
Whim. Who, I, an’t like your Honour?
Well. Ay, you.