Fran. And thou mayest do the devil knows what villainy.
Flam. And safely.
Fran. Right: you shall see in the country, in harvest-time, pigeons, though they destroy never so much corn, the farmer dare not present the fowling-piece to them: why? because they belong to the lord of the manor; whilst your poor sparrows, that belong to the Lord of Heaven, they go to the pot for 't.
Flam. I will now give you some politic instruction. The duke says he
will give you pension; that 's but bare promise; get it under his hand.
For I have known men that have come from serving against the Turk, for
three or four months they have had pension to buy them new wooden legs,
and fresh plasters; but after, 'twas not to be had. And this miserable
courtesy shows as if a tormentor should give hot cordial drinks to one
three-quarters dead o' th' rack, only to fetch the miserable soul again
to endure more dog-days.
[Exit Francisco. Enter Hortensio, a young Lord, Zanche, and two more.
How now, gallants? what, are they ready for the barriers?
Young Lord. Yes: the lords are putting on their armour.
Hort. What 's he?
Flam. A new upstart; one that swears like a falconer, and will lie in the duke's ear day by day, like a maker of almanacs: and yet I knew him, since he came to th' court, smell worse of sweat than an under tennis-court keeper.
Hort. Look you, yonder 's your sweet mistress.
Flam. Thou art my sworn brother: I 'll tell thee, I do love that Moor, that witch, very constrainedly. She knows some of my villainy. I do love her just as a man holds a wolf by the ears; but for fear of her turning upon me, and pulling out my throat, I would let her go to the devil.
Hort. I hear she claims marriage of thee.