Cas. The devil, sure, was in his hand, I think.
Cre. Nay, if the devil was against you, then——
Cas. But one for to be hit in all the time,
And that, too, safe enough, to any one's thinking:
'T stood on eleven.
Cre. 'Slid, a mighty slaughter;
But did he stand upon eleven at once?
Cas. The plague take all impertinences. Peace!
Cre. These soldiers are so choleric, there is
No dealing with 'em. Then they've lost the day?
Cas. 'Twas ten to one, by heaven, all the while.
Cre. And yet all kill'd at last! Hard fortune, faith!
What news from Brussels or the Hague? D' y' hear
Ought of the Turk's designs?
Cas. I'll make thee news for the Coranti, dotard.
Cre. Ay, the Coranti; what doth that say?