Fran. Why prethee?
Clo. Out upon 'em fire-locks,
They are nothing i'th' world but Buff and Scarlet,
Tough unhewn pieces, to hack swords upon;
I had as lieve be courted by a Cannon,
As one of those.
Fran. Thou art too malicious,
Upon my faith me thinks they're worthy men.
Clo. Say ye so? I'le pull ye on a little further.
What worth can be in those men, whose profession
Is nothing i'th' world but drink and damn me,
Out of whose violence they are possest
With legions of unwholsome whores and quarrels;
I am of that opinion, and will dye in't,
There is no understanding, nor can be
In a soust Souldier.
Fran. Now 'tis ignorance
I easily perceive that thus provokes thee,
And not the love of truth; I'le lay my life
If thou'dst been made a man, thou hadst been a coward.
Clo. If to be valiant, be to be a Souldier; I'le tell ye true,
I had rather be a Coward, I am sure with less sin.
Fra. This Heresie must be look'd to in time: for if it spread
'Twill grow too Pestilent; were I a Scholar
I would so hamper thee for thy opinion,
That ere I left, I would write thee out of credit
With all the world, and make thee not believ'd
Even in indifferent things; that I would leave thee
A reprobate out of the state of honour.
By all good things, thou hast flung aspersions
So like a fool (for I am angry with thee)
Upon a sort of men, that let me tell thee
Thy mothers mother would have been a Saint
Had she conceiv'd a Souldier; they are people
(I may commend 'em, while I speak but truth)
Of all the old world, only left to keep
Man as he was, valiant and vertuous.
They are the model of those men, whose honours
We heave our hands at when we hear recited.
Clo. They are, and I have all I sought for, 'tis a souldier
You love, hide it no longer; you have betray'd your self;
Come, I have found your way of commendations,
And what I said, was but to pull it from ye.
Fran. 'Twas pretty, are you grown so cunning, Clora?
I grant I love a souldier; But what souldier
Will be a new task to ye? But all this
I do imagine was but laid to draw me
Out of my melancholy.
Clo. I will have the man
Ere I forsake ye.