Brach. Forward lapwing!
He flies with the shell on 's head.
Fran. Pretty cousin!
Giov. The first year, uncle, that I go to war,
All prisoners that I take, I will set free,
Without their ransom.
Fran. Ha! without their ransom!
How then will you reward your soldiers,
That took those prisoners for you?
Giov. Thus, my lord:
I 'll marry them to all the wealthy widows
That falls that year.
Fran. Why then, the next year following,
You 'll have no men to go with you to war.
Giov. Why then I 'll press the women to the war,
And then the men will follow.
Mont. Witty prince!
Fran. See, a good habit makes a child a man,
Whereas a bad one makes a man a beast.
Come, you and I are friends.
Brach. Most wishedly:
Like bones which, broke in sunder, and well set,
Knit the more strongly.