Cap. I cannot.
Soto. Are ye a man? will ye cast away a May-Lord?
Shall all the wenches in the Countrey curse ye?
Sil. An't please you Captain, I'll supply his person,
'Tis pity their old custom should be frighted,
Let me have Horse, and good Arms, I'll serve willingly,
And if I shrink a foot of ground, Hell take me.
Cap. A promising Aspect, face full of courage,
I'll take this man, and thank ye too.
Far. There's for thee,
'Tis in a clout, but good old Gold.
Sil. I thank ye Sir.
Far. Goe saddle my fore-horse, put his feather on too,
He'll praunce it bravely, friend, he fears no Colours,
And take the Armor down, and see him dizin'd.
Soto. Farewel, and if thou cary'st thy self well in this matter,
I say no more, but this, there must be more May-Lords,
And I know who are fit.
Sil. Dance you, I'll fight, Sir.
Cap. Away, away.