Lope. How so?
Cres. I should have killed this popinjay.
Lope. What, sir, a captain in his Majest service?
Cres. Aye, a general, if he insulted me.
Lope. I tell you, whoever lays his little finger on the humblest private in the regiment, I’ll hang him.
Cres. And I tell you, whoever points his little finger at my honour, I’ll cut him down before hanging.
Lope. Know you not, you are bound by your allegiance to submit.
Cres. To all cost of property, yes; but of honour, no, no, no! My goods and chattels, aye, and my life—are the kin; but my honour is my own sou, and that is—God Almight.
Lope. ‘Fore God, ther some truth in what you say.
Cres. ‘Fore God, there ought to be, for I’ve been some years saying it.