Whim. Who, I? ha, ha, ha: Why, did your Honour think that I would fight?
Well. Fight! yes; why else do you take Commissions?
Whim. Commissions! Oh Lord, O Lord, take Commissions to fight! ha, ha, ha; that’s a jest, if all that take Commissions should fight—
Well. Why do you bear Arms then?
Whim. Why, for the Pay; to be called Captain, noble Captain, to show, to cock and look big, and bluff as I do: to be bow’d to thus as we pass, to domineer and beat our Soldiers: Fight, quoth a, ha, ha, ha.
Friend. But what makes you look so simply, Cornet?
Tim. Why, a thing that I have quite forgot, all my Accounts for England are to be made up, and I’m undone if they be neglected—else I wou’d not flinch for the stoutest he that wears a Sword— Looking big.
Down. What say you, Captain Whiff? Whiff almost drunk.
Whiff. I am trying, Colonel, what Mettle I’m made on; I think I am valiant, I suppose I have Courage, but I confess [’tis a little of the D—— breed], but a little inspiration from the Bottle, and the leave of my Nancy, may do wonders.
Enter a Seaman in haste.