Askew. I am glad, good Master Eyre, it is my hap
To meet so resolute a soldier.
Trust me, for your report and love to him,
A common slight regard shall not respect him.
Lacy. Is thy name Ralph?
Ralph. Yes, sir.
Lacy. Give me thy hand;
Thou shalt not want, as I am a gentleman.
Woman, be patient; God, no doubt, will send
Thy husband safe again; but he must go,
His country’s quarrel says it shall be so.
Hodge. Th’art a gull, by my stirrup, if thou dost not go. I will not have thee strike thy gimlet into these weak vessels; prick thine enemies, Ralph.
Enter Dodger.
Dodger. My lord, your uncle on the Tower-hill
Stays with the lord mayor and the aldermen,
And doth request you with all speed you may,
To hasten thither.
Askew. Cousin, let’s go.
Lacy. Dodger, run you before, tell them we come.—
This Dodger is mine uncle’s parasite, [Exit Dodger.
The arrant’st varlet that e’er breathed on earth;
He sets more discord in a noble house
By one day’s broaching of his pickthank tales,[14]
Than can be salved again in twenty years,
And he, I fear, shall go with us to France,
To pry into our actions.