Lieu. Pox upon it, They have such tender bodies too; such Culisses, That one good handsom blow breaks 'em a pieces.
Leo. How stands the Enemy?
Lieu. Even cool enough too: For to say truth he has been shrewdly heated, The Gentleman no doubt will fall to his jewlips.
Leo. He marches not i'th' tail on's.
Lieu. No, plague take him,
He'l kiss our tails as soon; he looks upon us,
As if he would say, if ye will turn again, friends,
We will belabor you a little better,
And beat a little more care into your coxcombs.
Now shall we have damnable Ballads out against us,
Most wicked madrigals: and ten to one, Colonel,
Sung to such lowsie, lamentable tunes.
Leo. Thou art merry,
How e're the game goes: good Sir be not troubled,
A better day will draw this back again.
Pray go, and cheer those left, and lead 'em off,
They are hot, and weary.
Dem. I'le doe any thing.
Leo. Lieutenant, send one presently away
To th' King, and let him know our state: and hark ye,
Be sure the messenger advise his Majestie
To comfort up the Prince: he's full of sadness.
Lieu. When shall I get a Surgeon? this hot weather, Unless I be well pepper'd, I shall stink, Colonel.
Leo. Go, I'le prepare thee one.