Til. So, Sir Reuben's despatched, and, like a ranger, may tappis[138] where he likes.
[Aside.
Sir Reu. But hark you, madam; what be these brave blades
That thus accoutre you? Are they your Platonics,
Hectors, or champion-haxters,[139] pimps or palliards,
Or your choice cabinet-confidants?
Tin. You may exact accompt from them.
Sir Reu. No, but I will not;
Long since I've heard a proverb made me wise,
And arm'd me cap-a-pie 'gainst such accounts:
"Whos'e'er he be that tugs with dirty foes,
He must be soil'd, admit he win or lose."
Tin. Shall I acquaint them with your adage, sir?
Sir Reu. Do, if you please.
Tin. No, sir, I am too tender
Of your endanger'd honour. Should a baffle
Engage your fame, and I the instrument,
It would disgust me.
Sir Reu. You are wondrous kind;
But, pray you, tell me, is this favourite,
Or turnkey of your council, in the rank
Of generous Hectors? I would be resolv'd,
For it concerns me.
Tin. Pray, good sir, as how?