Gna. Quite right.
Thra. I’ll carry off the girl.
Gna. Very good.
Thra. I’ll give her own self a mauling.
Gna. Very proper.
Thra. (arranging the men.) Advance hither to the main body, Donax, with your crowbar; you, Simalio, to the left wing; you, Syriscus, to the right. Bring up the rest; where’s the centurion Sanga, and his maniple[95] of rogues?
San. (coming forward.) See, here he is.
Thra. What, you booby, do you think of fighting with a dish-clout,[96] to be bringing that here?
San. What, I? I knew the valor of the general, and the prowess of the soldiers; and that this could not possibly go on without bloodshed; how was I to wipe the wounds?
Thra. Where are the others?