Nor. 'Tis but the sweat of honor (alas) thou milksop,
Thou man of March-pain, canst thou fear to see
A few light hurts, that blush they are no bigger,
A few small scratches? get ye a Cawdle, Sirrah,
Your finger akes, and let the old wives watch thee:
Bring in the booty: and the prisoners;
By heaven I'll see 'em, and dispose 'em first,
Before I have a drop of blood wip'd from me, goe. [Exeunt Soldiers.
Surg. You'll faint Sir.
Nor. No, ye lie, Sir, like an Ass, Sir;
I have no such pigs hurt in my belly.
Sur. By my life Captain
These hurts are not to be jested with.
Nor. If thou hadst 'em:
They are my companions fool, my family;
I cannot eat nor sleep without their company,
Dost take me for St. Davy, that fell dead
With seeing of his nose bleed?
Enter Soldiers with booty.
Sur. Here they come, Sir:
But would you would be drest.
Nor. Pox: dress thy self first.
Thou faint'st a great deal faster: what's all this?
1 Sold. The money and the merchandize ye took Sir.
Nor. A goodly purchase; Is it for this we venture
Our liberties and lives? what can all this do?
Get me some dozen surfeits, some seven fresh whores,
And twenty pot-Allies; and then I am virtuous.
Lay the Knights part by, and that to pay the Soldier:
This is mine own, I think I have deserv'd it:
Come, now look to me, and grope me like a Chambermaid,
I'll neither start nor squeak; what's that i' th' Trusse there?