Dem. Pray do not kill me, These words pierce deeper than the wounds I suffer, The smarting wounds of loss.
Leo. Ye are too tender;
Fortune has hours of loss, and hours of honour,
And the most valiant feel them both: take comfort,
The next is ours, I have a soul descries it:
The angry bull never goes back for breath
But when he means to arm his fury double.
Let this day set, but not the memorie,
And we shall find a time: How now Lieutenant?
Enter Lieutenant.
Lieu. I know not: I am mall'd: we are bravely beaten, All our young gallants lost.
Leo. Thou art hurt.
Lieu. I am pepper'd,
I was i'th' midst of all: and bang'd of all hands:
They made an anvile of my head, it rings yet;
Never so thresh'd: do you call this fame? I have fam'd it;
I have got immortal fame, but I'le no more on't;
I'le no such scratching Saint to serve hereafter;
O' my conscience I was kill'd above twenty times,
And yet I know not what a Devil's in't,
I crawled away, and lived again still; I am hurt plaguily,
But now I have nothing near so much pain Colonel,
They have sliced me for that maladie.
Dem. All the young men lost?
Lie. I am glad you are here: but they are all i'th' pound sir,
They'l never ride o're other mens corn again, I take it,
Such frisking, and such flaunting with their feathers,
And such careering with their Mistres favours;
And here must he be pricking out for honour,
And there got he a knock, and down goes pilgarlick,
Commends his soul to his she-saint, and Exit.
Another spurs in there, cryes make room villains,
I am a Lord, scarce spoken, but with reverence
A Rascal takes him o're the face, and fells him;
There lyes the Lord, the Lord be with him.
Leo. Now Sir, Do you find this truth?
Dem. I would not.