Would I were dead my self.
Æcius. You run away well;
How got you from me, friend?
Max. That that leads mad men,
A strong imagination made me wander.
Æcius. I thought you had been more setled.
Max. I am well,
But you must give me leave a little sometimes
To have a buzzing in my brains.
Æcius. Ye are dangerous,
But I'll prevent it if I can; ye told me
You would go to th' Army.
Max. Why, to have my throat cut?
Must he not be the bravest man, Æcius,
That strikes me first?
Æci. You promised me a freedom
From all these thoughts, and why should any strike you?
Max. I am an Enemy, a wicked one,
Worse than the foes of Rome, I am a Coward,
A Cuckold, and a Coward, that's two causes
Why every one should beat me.
Æci. Ye are neither;
And durst another tell me so, he dyed for't,
For thus far on mine honour, I'le assure you
No man more lov'd than you, and for your valour,
And what ye may be, fair; no man more follow'd.