Jun. Thou speak'st truly:
The Wars shall be my Mistriss now.
Petil. Well chosen,
For she's a bownsing lass, she'll kiss thee at night, boy,
And break thy pate i'th' morning.
Jun. Yesterday
I found those favors infinite.
Dem. Wench good enough,
But that she talks too loud.
Pet. She talks to th' purpose,
Which never Woman did yet: she'll hold grapling,
And he that layes on best, is her best servant:
All other loves are meer catching of dotrels,
Stretching of legs out only, and trim laziness.
Here comes the General. [Enter Swet., Curius, & Macer.
Swet. I am glad [I] have found ye:
Are those come in yet that pursu'd bold Caratach?
Pet. Not yet Sir, for I think they mean to lodge him;
Take him I know they dare not, 'twill be dangerous.
Swet. Then haste Petillius, haste to Penyus,
I fear the strong conceit of what disgrace
Has pull'd upon himself, will be his ruine:
I fear his soldiers fury too; haste presently,
I would not lose him for all Britain. Give him, Petillius.
Petill. That that shall choak him.
Swet. All the noble counsell,
His fault forgiven too, his place, his honor,