How so?
PARMENIO.
Ha! I do not any more count the limbs on which I am wounded; to save time and breath I count those which still are whole. Trifles after all! For what else has one bones, but that the enemy's iron should notch itself upon them?
PHILOTAS.
That is bold! But now--what will you say to my father?
PARMENIO.
What I see: that you are well. For your wound, if I have heard the truth----
PHILOTAS.
Is as good as none.