Man. No, I am not modest; but love to brag myself, and can't patiently hear you fight over the last civil war. Therefore, go look out the fellow I saw just now here, that walks with his sword and stockings out at heels, and let him tell you the history of that scar on his cheek, to give you occasion to show yours got in the field at Bloomsbury, not that of Edgehill. Go to him, poor fellow; he is fasting, and has not yet the happiness this morning to stink of brandy and tobacco: go, give him some to hear you; I am busy.
Old. Well, egad, I love thee now, boy, for thy surliness. Thou art no tame captain, I see, that will suffer—
Man. An old fox.
Old. All that shan't make me angry: I consider that thou art peevish, and fretting at some ill success at law. Prithee, tell me what ill luck you have met with here.
Man. You.
Old. Do I look like the picture of ill luck? gadsnouns, I love thee more and more. And shall I tell thee what made me love thee first?
Man. Do; that I may be rid of that damned quality and thee.
Old. 'Twas thy wearing that broad sword there.
Man. Here, Freeman, let's change: I'll never wear it more.