I confess such fellows Be in all Royal Camps, and have and must be, To make the sin of Coward more detested In the mean souldier that with such a foil Sets off much valour. By description I should now guess him to you, it was _Bessus_, I dare almost with confidence pronounce it. _Lyg_. 'Tis such a scurvie name as _Bessus_, and now I think 'tis he. _Mar_. Captain do you call him? Believe me Sir, you have a misery Too mighty for your age: A pox upon him, For that must be the end of all his service: Your Daughter was not mad Sir? _Lyg_. No, would she had been, The fault had had more credit: I would do something. _Mar_. I would fain counsel you, but to what I know not, he's so below a beating, that the Women find him not worthy of their Distaves, and to hang him were to cast away a Rope; he's such an Airie, thin unbodyed Coward, that no revenge can catch him: I'le tell you Sir, and tell you truth; this Rascal fears neither God nor man, he has been so beaten: sufferance has made him Wainscot: he has had since he was first a slave, at least three hundred Daggers set in's head, as little boys do new Knives in hot meat, there's not a Rib in's body o' my Conscience that has not been thrice broken with dry beating: and now his sides look like two Wicker Targets, every way bended; Children will shortly take him for a Wall, and set their Stone-bows in his forehead, he is of so base a sense, I cannot in a week imagine what shall be done to him. _Lyg_. Sure I have committed some great sin That this fellow should be made my Rod, I would see him, but I shall have no patience. _Mar_. 'Tis no great matter if you have not: if a Laming of him, or such a toy may do you pleasure Sir, he has it for you, and I'le help you to him: 'tis no news to him to have a Leg broken, or Shoulder out, with being turn'd o'th' stones like a Tansie: draw not your Sword if you love it; for on my Conscience his head will break it: we use him i'th' Wars like a Ram to shake a wall withal. Here comes the very person of him, do as you shall find your temper, I must leave you: but if you do not break him like a Bisket, you are much to blame Sir. [_Exit_ Mar. _Enter_ Bessus _And the Sword men_. _Lyg_. Is your name _Bessus_? _Bes_. Men call me Captain Bessus. _Lyg_. Then Ca[p]tain _Bessus_, you are a rank rascall, without more exordiums, a durty frozen slave; and with the favor of your friends here I will beat you. _2 Sword_. Pray use your pleasure Sir, You seem to be a Gentleman. _Lyg_. Thus Captain _Bessus_, thus; thus twing your nose, thus kick, thus tread you. _Bes_. I do beseech you yield your cause Sir quickly. _Lyg_. Indeed I should have told that first. _Bes_. I take it so. _1 Sword_. Captain, he should indeed, he is mistaken. _Lyg_.