Petill. O but the General—
Pen. He's a brave Gentleman,
A valiant, and a loving; and I dare say
He would, as far as honor durst direct him,
Make even with my fault, but 'tis not honest,
Nor in his power: examples that may nourish
Neglect and disobedience in whole bodies.
And totter the estates and faiths of armies,
Must not be plaid withall; nor out of pitty
Make a General forget his duty:
Nor dare I hope more from him than is worthy.
Petill. What would ye do?
Pen. Dye.
Petill. So would sullen children,
Women that want their wills, slaves, disobedient,
That fear the law, die. Fie, great Captain; you
A man to rule men, to have thousand lives
Under your Regiment, and let your passion
Betray your reason? I bring you all forgiveness,
The noblest kind commends, your place, your honour.
Pen. Prethee no more; 'tis foolish: didst not thou?
By —— thou didst, I over-heard thee, there,
There where thou standst now, deliver me for rascal,
Poor, dead, cold coward, miserable, wretched,
If I out-liv'd this ruine?
Petill. I?
Pen. And thou di[d]st it nobly,
Like a true man, a souldier: and I thank thee,
I thank thee, good Petillius; thus I thank thee.
Petill. Since ye are so justly made up, let me tell ye,
'Tis fit ye dye indeed.
Pen. O how thou lov'st me!