King. Your Blushes do betray your Passion for her.
Dar. ’Sdeath, have we fought for this, to expose the Victor to the conquer’d Foe?
Fear. What, fight a single Man—our Prize already.
King. Not so, young Man, while I command a Dart.
Bac. Fight him! by Heaven, no reason shall dissuade me, and he that interrupts me is a Coward; whatever be my Fate, I do command ye to let the King pass freely to his Tents.
Dar. The Devil’s in the General.
Fear. ’Sdeath, his Romantick Humour will undo us. They fight and pause.
King. You fight as if you meant to outdo me this way, as you have done in Generosity.
Bac. You’re not behind-hand with me, Sir, in courtesy: Come, here’s to set us even— Fight again.
King. You bleed apace.