_Enter Lewes_. _Lew_. Where are these Lords? the one hath sate with me And suddenly is risen from the boord, The other came not at all. Daughter, saw you The Prince or _Pembrooke_ which way they are gone? _Kath_. Backe to their Tents, my Lord, as I suppose. _Lew_. Back to their tents and take no leave of us? Nay, then I feare their meaning was too smoothe And some black Treason cover'd in their smiles. Which we will seeke immediately to prevent. [_Exeunt_. _Actus Secundus_. [SCENE 1.] _Enter Dicke Bowyer and soldiers, with Drum and colours_. _Bow_. Stand, give the word along, stand. _Lieu_. Stand there! _Bow_. Lieutenant. _Lieu_. Captayne. _Bow_. Is the watch set in the King's quarter yet. _Lieu_. An houre agoe. _Bow_. 'Zounds what foolish Canaanits were they to run in debt to their eyes for an houres sleepe sooner then they needed! Sergeant. _Ser_. Anon, Sir. _Bow_. Anon, Sir! s'hart the Rogue answers like a Drawer, but tis the tricke of most of these Sergeants, all clincum clancum. Gods dynes[118], I am an _Onyon_ if I had not rather serve formost in the forlorne hoope of a battell or runne poynt blancke against the mouth of a double charged Cannon then come under the arrests of some their pewter pessels. Zounds, tis hotter a great deale then hell mouth and _Dives_ burning in Sulphur: but thou art none of the genealogy of them. Where must we watch to night? _Serg_. In the furthest Trenches that confront the enemies campe. _Bow_. Thats the next way to have all our throats cut. _Lieu_. That cannot be; you know, Captain, there's a peace toward. _Bow_. A pox a peace, it keeps our Ancient whole, but s'hart our gaberdines go to wrack. But _futra_! tis well known since _Dick Bowyer_ came to France he hath shewed himselfe a gentleman and a Cavaliero and sets feare at's heeles. And I could scape (a pox on it) th'other thing, I might haps return safe and sound to England. But what remedy? al flesh is grasse and some of us must needes be scorcht in this hote Countrey. Lieutenant _Core_, prithee lead my Band to their quarter; and the rogues do not as they should, cram thy selfe, good _Core_, downe their throats and choak them. Who stands Sentronell to night, Sir? _Sol_. That must I, Captayne. _Bow_. You, _Rafe Nod_? zounds, soldiers, follow my discipline, say your prayers, you are all dead men, all dust and ashes, all wormes meat. _Lieu_. How so, Captayne? _Bow_. Doe you make him Sentronell? s'hart heele nod[119] presently: and he do not sleepe sitting upon the poynt of a Spanish needle, _Dicke Bowyer's_ a very shittle-cocke. _Nod_! zounds, he is one of the nine sleepers, a very Dormouse: & I had a pageant to present of the seven deadly Sinnes[120], he should play Slouth; and he did not sleepe when he should speake his part I am a Badger. _Soul_. That's true; you have halfe the nature of a Badger, for one leg is shorter then another.