Ralph. March fair, my hearts; lieutenant, beat the rear up; ancient, let your colours fly; but have a great care of the butchers' hooks at Whitechapel, they have been the death of many a fair ancient. Open your files, that I may take a view both of your persons and munition. Sergeant, call a muster.
Serg. A stand. William Hamerton, pewterer.
Ham. Here, Captain.
Ralph. A croslet and a Spanish pike; 'tis well, can you shake it with a terror?
Ham. I hope so, captain.
Ralph. Charge upon me—'tis with the weakest. Put more strength, William Hamerton, more strength. As you were again; proceed, sergeant.
Serg. George Green-goose, poulterer.
Green. Here.
Ralph. Let me see your piece, neighbour Green-goose. When was she shot in?