Cesar. That's a game dear friend,
That does admit no rival in chase of it.
And either to be undertook alone,
Or not to be attempted.
Ment. I'll not press you;
What other sports to entertain the time with
The following morning?
Cesar. Any that may become us.
Ment. Is the Neapolitan horse the Viceroy sent you,
In a fit plight to run?
Cesar. So my Groom tells me.
I can boast little of my horsemanship;
Yet upon his assurance, I dare wager
A thousand Crowns, 'gainst any horse in Florence,
For an eight mile course.
Ment. I would not win of you,
In respect you are impatient of loss:
Else I durst match him with my Barbary
For twice the sum.
Cesar. You do well to excuse it, being certain to be beaten.
Ment. Tush. You know the contrary.
Cesar. To end the controversie
Put it to trial, by my life I'll meet you