Speu. And cause enough. A pretty soldier, sir,
Who'd choose to march with flowers in his hand
Like smirking virgin on Diana's day!
I thought the tyrant would show tooth of war
And not turn tail and kennel.
Tim. [Starting] What noise is that?
It cuts the air unlike a feasting cry.
Speu. By Mars, I pray our swords will yet have airing,
And good fresh drink too!
Tim. Here's a man, Ascander.