Brazen. But I'm a Foot Officer, my Dear, and never use Pistols, the Sword is my way—and I won't be put out of my Road to please any Man.
Wor. Nor I neither, so have at you.
[Cocks one Pistol.
Brazen. Look'e, my Dear, I don't care for Pistols—Pray oblige me, and let us have a bout at Sharps; dam it, there's no parrying these Bullets.
Wor. Sir, if you han't your Belly full of these, the Swords shall come in for second Course.
Brazen. Why then Fire and Fury! I have eaten Smoak from the Mouth of a Cannon, Sir; don't think I fear Powder, for I live upon't. Let me see. [Takes one.] And now, Sir, how many Paces distant shall we fire?
Wor. Fire you when you please, I'll reserve my Shot till I am sure of you.
Brazen. Come, where's your Cloak?
Wor. Cloak! what d'ye mean?
Brazen. To fight upon, I always fight upon a Cloak, 'tis our way Abroad.