Old K. Sed quod est tibi nomen: & quis dedit? Responde
Argumentum.
Pris. Hem, hem.
Witty. He's dry he hems, on quickly.
Ruin. Courteous Gentlemen, if the brow of a Military face may not be offensive to your generous eye-balls, let his wounds speak better than his words, for some branch or small sprig of charity to be planted upon this poor barren soil of a Soldier.
Old K. How now, what Arms and Arts both go a begging?
Ruin. Such is the Post-progress of cold charity now a-days, who (for heat to her frigid Limbs) passes in so swift a motion, that two at the least had need be to stay her.
Sir G. Sir, lets reward um I pray you, and be gone. If any quarrel should arise amongst us, I am able to answer neither of them, his Iron and Steel tongue is as hard as the t'others Latine one.
Old K. Stay, stay Sir I will talk a little with him first,
Let me alone with both, I will try whether they
Live by their wits or no; for such a man I love,
And what? you both beg together then?
Pris. Conjunctis manibus, profecto, Domine.
Ruin. With equal fortunes, equal distribution, there's not the breadth of a swords point uneven in our division.