Ralph. A Corslet and a Spanish Pike; 'tis well, can you shake it with a terror?
Ham. I hope so Captain.
Ralph. Charge upon me, 'tis with the weakest: put more strength William Hamerton, more strength: as you were again; proceed Serjeant.
Serj. George Green-goose, Poulterer.
Green. Here.
Ralph. Let me see your Peece, neighbor Green-goose, when was she shot in?
Green. And like you master Captain, I made a shot even now, partly to scour her, and partly for audacity.
Ralph. It should seem so certainly, for her breath is yet inflamed: besides, there is a main fault in the touch-hole, it runs and stinketh; and I tell you moreover, and believe it. Ten such touch-holes would breed the Pox in the Army. Get you a Feather, neighbor, get you a Feather, sweet Oil, and Paper, and your Peece may do well enough yet. Where's your Powder?
Green. Here.
Ralph. What in a Paper? As I am a Soldier and a Gentleman, it craves a Martial Court: you ought to die for't. Where's your horn? answer me to that.