Enter Martell.
Theod. Look Sir, he has it,
Nay we shall have peace when so great a soldier
As the renoun'd P[ro]taldye, will give up
His sword rather then use it.
Brun. 'Twas thy plot,
Which I will turn on thine own head. [aside.
Thie. Pray you speak,
How won you him to part from't?
Mart. Won him Sir,
He would have yielded it upon his knees
Before he would have hazarded the exchange
Of a phil[l]ip of the forehead: had you will'd me
I durst have undertook he should have sent you
His Nose, provided that the loss of it
Might have sav'd the rest of his face: he is, Sir
The most unutterable coward that e'er nature
Blest with hard shoulders, which were only given him,
To the ruin of bastinados.
Thier. Possible?
Theod. Observe but how she frets.
Mart. Why believe it:
But that I know the shame of this disgrace,
Will make the beast to live with such, and never
Presume to come more among men; I'll hazard
My life upon it, that a boy of twelve
Should scourge him hither like a Parish Top,
And make him dance before you.
Brun. Slave thou liest,
Thou dar'st as well speak Treason in the hearing
Of those that have the power to punish it,
As the least syllable of this before him,
But 'tis thy hate to me.
Martel. Nay, pray you Madam,
I have no ears to hear you, though a foot
To let you understand what he is.