Ferd. Thou toldest me thy wife could not endure fighting.
Cast. True, my lord.
Ferd. And of a jest she broke of a captain she met full of wounds: I have forgot it.
Cast. She told him, my lord, he was a pitiful fellow, to lie, like the children of Ismael, all in tents.[103]
Ferd. Why, there's a wit were able to undo all the surgeons o' the city; for although gallants should quarrel, and had drawn their weapons, and were ready to go to it, yet her persuasions would make them put up.
Cast. That she would, my lord.—How do you like my Spanish gennet?
Rod. He is all fire.
Ferd. I am of Pliny's opinion, I think he was begot by the wind; he runs as if he were ballassed with quicksilver.
Silvio. True, my lord, he reels from the tilt often.