Petill. I knew I had won.
Jun. Nor have I so much power
To shun my fortune.
Petill. I will hunt thy fortune
With all the shapes imagination breeds, [Musick.
But I will fright thy devil: Stay, he sings now.
Song, by Junius, and Petillius, after him in mockage.
Jun. Must I be thus abus'd?
Petill. Yes marry must ye.
Let's follow him close: oh, there he is, now read it.
Herald reads. It is the Generals command, that all sick, persons old and unable, retire within the Trenches; he that fears his liberty, to leave the Field: Fools, Boys, and Lovers must not come near the Regiments, for fear of their infections; especially those Cowards they call Lovers.
Jun. Ha?
Petill. Read on.