Emp. The dapl'd Spaniard?
Chil. He.
Emp. He's mine.
Chil. He is so.
Max. Your short horse is soon curried.
Chil. So it seems, Sir,
So may your Mare be too, if luck serve.
Max. Ha?
Chil. Nothing my Lord, but grieving at my fortune.
Emp. Come Maximus, you were not wont to flinch thus.
Max. I have lost all.