Man.Art thou much hurt?
Pal. A thrust in the arm, a petty prick, which yet
Bleeds uncontrolledly.
Man.Undo it. It spurts.
Hold here thy hand, while with thy handkerchief
I bind thy arm.
Pal.Look you, ’tis lower down.
Man. Peace, man! ’Twill stay the blood to bind thee here.
Hast thou no other hurt?
Pal.Nay, none but this.