Mat. So shall some of us be anon, I fear.
Bots. Here’s a hot day towards: but zounds, this is the life out of which a soldier sucks sweetness! when this artillery goes off roundly, some must drop to the ground: cannon, demi-cannon, saker, and basilisk.[299]
Lod. Give fire, lieutenant.
Bots. So, so: Must I venture first upon the breach? to you all, gallants: Bots sets upon you all. [Drinks.
Ast., Car., &c. It’s hard, Bots, if we pepper not you, as well as you pepper us.
Enter Candido.
Lod. My noble linen-draper!—some wine!—Welcome old lad!
Mat. You’re welcome, signor.
Cand. These lawns, sir?