Lar. My horse to yours, no
Mar. Tis done
Lart. Agreed
Mar. Say, ha's our Generall met the Enemy?
Mess. They lye in view, but haue not spoke as yet
Lart. So, the good Horse is mine
Mart. Ile buy him of you
Lart. No, Ile nor sel, nor giue him: Lend you him I will
For halfe a hundred yeares: Summon the Towne
Mar. How farre off lie these Armies?
Mess. Within this mile and halfe
Mar. Then shall we heare their Larum, & they Ours.
Now Mars, I prythee make vs quicke in worke,
That we with smoaking swords may march from hence
To helpe our fielded Friends. Come, blow thy blast.
They Sound a Parley: Enter two Senators with others on the Walles
of
Corialus.