Pont. I prethee cure him of ’em.
Nou. Pish: no more, [95]
Thy gall sure’s ouer throwne; these are my Councell,
And we were now in serious discourse.
Pont. Of perfume and apparell, can you rise
And spend 5 houres in dressing talke, with these?
Nou. Thou ’idst haue me be a dog: vp, stretch and shake, [100]
And ready for all day.
Pont. Sir, would you be
More curious in preseruing of your honour.
Trim, ’twere more manly. I am come to wake
Your reputation, from this lethargy
You let it sleep in, to perswade, importune, [105]
Nay, to prouoke you, sir, to call to account
This Collonell Romont, for the foule wrong
Which like a burthen, he hath layd on you,
And like a drunken porter, you sleepe vnder.
’Tis all the towne talkes, and beleeue, sir, [110]
If your tough sense persist thus, you are vndone,
Vtterly lost, you will be scornd and baffled
By euery Lacquay; season now your youth,
With one braue thing, and it shall keep the odour
Euen to your death, beyond, and on your Tombe, [115]
Sent like sweet oyles and Frankincense; sir, this life
Which once you sau’d, I ne’re since counted mine,
I borrow’d it of you; and now will pay it;
I tender you the seruice of my sword
To beare your challenge, if you’ll write, your fate: [120]
Ile make mine owne: what ere betide you, I
That haue liu’d by you, by your side will dye.
Nou. Ha, ha, would’st ha’ me challenge poore Romont?
Fight with close breeches, thou mayst think I dare not.
Doe not mistake me (cooze) I am very valiant, [125]
But valour shall not make me such an Asse.
What vse is there of valour (now a dayes?)
’Tis sure, or to be kill’d, or to be hang’d.
Fight thou as thy minde moues thee, ’tis thy trade,
Thou hast nothing else to doe; fight with Romont? [130]
No i’le not fight vnder a Lord.
Pont. Farewell, sir,
I pitty you.
Such louing Lords walke their dead honours graues,
For no companions fit, but fooles and knaues.
Come Malotin.
Exeunt Pont. Mal.
Enter Romont.
Lila. ’Sfoot, Colbran, the low gyant. [135]