Mart. O my Lord,
Your honor cannot leave a gentleman
At least a fair design of this brave nature,
To which your worth is wedded, your profession
Hatcht in, and made one peece in such a perill,
There are but six my Lord.
Prot. What six?
Mart. Six villains sworn, and in pay to kill me.
Protaldye. Six?
Mart. Alas Sir, what can six do, or sixscore, now you are present?
Your name will blow 'em off: say they have shot too,
Who dare present a peece? your valour's proof Sir.
Prot. No, I'll assure you Sir, nor my discretion
Against a multitude; 'Tis true, I dare fight
Enough, and well enough, and long enough:
But wisedome Sir, and weight of what is on me,
In which I am no more mine own, nor yours Sir,
Nor as I take it any single danger,
But what concerns my place, tel[l]s me directly,
Beside my person, my fair reputation,
If I thrust into crowds, and seek occasions
Suffers opinion, six? Why Hercules
Avoyded two men, yet not to give example;
But only for your present dangers sake Sir,
Were there but four Sir, I car'd not if I kill'd them,
They will serve to whet my sword.
Mart. There are but four Sir,
I did mistake them; but four such as Europe,
Excepting your great valour.
Prot. Well consider'd,
I will not meddle with 'em, four in honor,
Are equall with fourscore, besides they're people
Only directed by their fury.
Mart. So much nobler shall be your way of justice.
Prot. That I find not.