Jaq. That you cannot neither.
Petru. Why?
Jaq. Unless you'll drop through the Chimney like a Daw, or force a breach i'th' windows: you may untile the house, 'tis possible.
Petru. What dost thou mean?
Jaq. A moral, Sir, the Ballad will express it:
The wind and the rain, has turned you back again,
And you cannot be lodged there. The truth is, all the doors
Are baracadoed; not a Cathole, but holds a murd'rer in't.
She's victuall'd for this month.
Petru. Art not thou drunk?
Soph. He's drunk, he's drunk; come, come, let's up.
Jaq. Yes, yes, I am drunk: ye may go up, ye may Gentlemen, but take heed to your heads: I say no more.
Soph. I'll try that. [Exit Soph.
Petron. How dost thou say? the door fast lock'd fellow?
Jaq. Yes truly Sir, 'tis lock'd, and guarded too; and two as desperate tongues planted behind it, as e'er yet batter'd: they stand upon their honors, and will not give up without strange composition, I'll assure you; marching away with their Pieces cockt, and Bullets in their mouths, will not satisfie them.
Petru. How's this? how's this? they are—
Is there another with her?
Jaq. Yes marry is there, and an Enginier.
Mor. Who's that for Heavens sake?
Jaq. Colonel Byancha, she commands the works: [Spinola's] but a Ditcher to her, there's a half-moon: I am but a poor man, but if you'll give me leave, I'll venture a years wages, draw all your force before it, and mount your ablest Piece of battery, you shall not enter it these three nights yet.
Enter Sophocles.
Petru. I should laugh at that good Jaques.
Soph. Beat back again, she's fortified for ever.
Jaq. Am I drunk now, Sir?
Soph. He that dares most, go up now, and be cool'd.
I have scap'd a pretty scowring.
Petru. What are they mad? have we another Bedlam?
They do not talke I hope?