+Anc.+ Under what colonel? In what regiment? +Capt.+ Why, let me see--but come, in company? Let's sit, sir. True soldiers scorn unnecessary discourse, especially in taverns. +Anc.+ 'Tis true, true soldiers do: but you are tavern-rats. +Capt.+ How? +Alex.+ Prythee! +Anc.+ Foul food, that lies all day undigested Upon the queasy stomach of some tavern, And are spew'd out at midnight. +Tim.+ Corporal Cods-head's health, sir. +Anc.+ In thy face, fool. [_+Tim+ retires._ +Alex.+ This is cruel, Ancient. +Anc.+ You are but The worms of worth, the sons of shame and baseness, That in a tavern dare outsit the sun, And, rather than a whore shall part unpledg'd, You'll pawn your souls for a superfluous cup, Though ye cast it into the reckoning. The true soldier, who is all o'er, a history of man, Noble and valiant; wisdom is the mould In which he casts his actions. Such a discreet temperance Doth daily deck his doings, that by his modesty He's guess'd the son of merit, and by his mildness Is believed valiant. Go, and build no more These airy castles of hatched fame, which fools Only admire and fear you for: the wise man Derides and jeers you as puffs. [Be] really of[59] Virtue and valour, those fair twins, That are born, breathe, and die together: then You'll no more be called butterflies, but men: Think on't, and pay your reckoning. [_Exit._ +Capt.+ Shall we suffer this, Saunder? +Alex.+ I must go after him. +Sue.+ Kill him, an' there be no more men in Christendom. +Alex.+ I know my sister loves him, and he swears he loves her; and, by this hand, it shall go hard if he have her not, smock and all. Brave, excellent man! With what a strength of zeal we admire that goodness in another which we cannot call our own! [_Exit._ +Lieut.+ He's a dead man, I warrant him. +Capt.+ But where's our corporal? Corporal, corporal! +Tim.+ Well, here's your corporal, an' you can be quiet. [_Looks out._[60] +Sue.+ Look, an' he have not ensconced[61] himself in a wooden castle. +Tim.+ Is he gone that called us butterflies? +Mis. Coote.+ Yes, yes; h' has taken wing; and your brother's gone after him, to fight with him. +Tim.+ That's well; he cannot in conscience but do us the courtesy to kill him for us. Come, gallants, what shall we do? I'll never go home to go to bed with my guts full of four-shillings beer, when I may replenish them with sack. Ha! now am I as lusty! Methinks we two have blue beards. Is there ne'er a wench to be had? Drawer, bring us up impossibilities, an honest whore and a conscionable reckoning. +Lieut.+ Why, here's all fire-wit, whe'r[62] he will or no.