Jud. Captain, we do beseech yo as poor Soldiers,
Men that have seen good days, whose mortal stomachs
May sometime feel afflictions.
Jun. This, Petillius,
Is not so nobly done.
Petill. 'Tis common profit;
Urge him to th' point, he'll find you out a food
That needs no teeth nor stomach; a strange furmity
Will feed ye up as fat as hens i'th' foreheads,
And make ye fight like Fichocks, to him.
Jud. Captain.
Jun. Do you long to have your throats cut?
Petill. See what metal
It makes in him: two meals more of this melancholly,
And there lies Caratach.
Jud. We do beseech ye.
2 Sold. Humbly beseech your valour.
Jun. Am I only
Become your sport Petillius?
Jud. But to render
In way of general good, in preservation.