FIRST SOLDIER. ‘Demand of him of what strength they are a-foot.’ What say you to that? PAROLLES. By my troth, sir, if I were to live this present hour, I will tell true. Let me see: Spurio, a hundred and fifty, Sebastian, so many; Corambus, so many; Jaques, so many; Guiltian, Cosmo, Lodowick, and Gratii, two hundred fifty each; mine own company, Chitopher, Vaumond, Bentii, two hundred fifty each: so that the muster-file, rotten and sound, upon my life, amounts not to fifteen thousand poll; half of the which dare not shake the snow from off their cassocks lest they shake themselves to pieces. BERTRAM. What shall be done to him? FIRST LORD. Nothing, but let him have thanks. Demand of him my condition, and what credit I have with the duke. FIRST SOLDIER. Well, that’s set down. ‘You shall demand of him whether one Captain Dumaine be i’ the camp, a Frenchman; what his reputation is with the duke, what his valour, honesty and expertness in wars; or whether he thinks it were not possible with well-weighing sums of gold to corrupt him to a revolt.’ What say you to this? What do you know of it? PAROLLES. I beseech you, let me answer to the particular of the inter’gatories. Demand them singly. FIRST SOLDIER. Do you know this Captain Dumaine? PAROLLES. I know him: he was a botcher’s ’prentice in Paris, from whence he was whipped for getting the shrieve’s fool with child, a dumb innocent that could not say him nay. [_First Lord lifts up his hand in anger._] BERTRAM. Nay, by your leave, hold your hands; though I know his brains are forfeit to the next tile that falls. FIRST SOLDIER. Well, is this captain in the Duke of Florence’s camp? PAROLLES. Upon my knowledge, he is, and lousy. FIRST LORD. Nay, look not so upon me; we shall hear of your lordship anon. FIRST SOLDIER. What is his reputation with the duke? PAROLLES. The duke knows him for no other but a poor officer of mine, and writ to me this other day to turn him out o’ the band. I think I have his letter in my pocket. FIRST SOLDIER. Marry, we’ll search. PAROLLES. In good sadness, I do not know; either it is there or it is upon a file, with the duke’s other letters, in my tent. FIRST SOLDIER. Here ’tis; here’s a paper; shall I read it to you? PAROLLES. I do not know if it be it or no. BERTRAM. Our interpreter does it well. FIRST LORD. Excellently. FIRST SOLDIER. [_Reads._] _Dian, the Count’s a fool, and full of gold._ PAROLLES. That is not the duke’s letter, sir; that is an advertisement to a proper maid in Florence, one Diana, to take heed of the allurement of one Count Rossillon, a foolish idle boy, but for all that very ruttish. I pray you, sir, put it up again. FIRST SOLDIER. Nay, I’ll read it first by your favour. PAROLLES. My meaning in’t, I protest, was very honest in the behalf of the maid; for I knew the young count to be a dangerous and lascivious boy, who is a whale to virginity, and devours up all the fry it finds. BERTRAM. Damnable both sides rogue!