_Dorilaus._ See how she blushes! 'Tis a good sign you'l mend your fault, how dost thou, My good _Calista_? _Cal._ Well, now I see you Sir; I hope you bring a fruitfulness along with ye. _Dor._ Good luck, I never miss, I was ever good at it: Your mother groan'd for't wench, so did some other, But I durst never tell. _Cal._ How does your arm Sir? _Cle._ Have you been let bloud of late? _Dor._ Against my will Sir. _Cal._ A fall dear Father? _Dor._ No, a Gun, dear Daughter; Two or three Guns; I have one here in my buttock, 'Twould trouble a Surgeons teeth to pull it out. _Cal._ O me! O me! _Dor._ Nay, if you fall to fainting, 'Tis time for me to trudge: art such a coward, At the meer name of hurt to change thy colour? I have been shot that men might see clean through me, And yet I fainted not: besides my self, Here are an hospital of hurt men for ye. _Enter Servants, wounded in several places._ _Clean._ What should this wonder be? _Cal._ I am amaz'd at it. _Doril._ What think ye of these? they are every one hurt soundly, Hurt to the proof, they are through, and through I assure ye; And that's good game, they scorn your puling scratches. _Cal._ Who did this Sir? _Dor._ Leave crying, and I'le tell you, And get your plaisters, and your warm stupes ready: Have you ne're a Shepheard that can tarr us over? 'Twill prove a business else, we are so many. Coming to see you, I was set upon, I and my men, as we were singing frolickly, Not dreaming of an ambush of base Rogues, Set on i'th' forest, I have forgot the name-- _Cle._ 'Twixt this, and _Fountaine-Bleau_, In the wild Forest? _Dor._ The same, the same, in that accursed Forest, Set on by villains, that make boot of all men, The Peers of _France_ are pillage there, they shot at us, Hurt us, un-hors'd us, came to the sword, there pli'd us, Opprest us with fresh multitudes, fresh shot still, Rogues that would hang themselves for a fresh doublet, And for a Scarlet Cassock kill their Fathers. _Cle._ Lighted you among these? _Dor._ Among these murtherers, Our poor blouds were ingag'd: yet we strook bravely, And more than once or twice we made them shun us, And shrink their rugged heads: but we were hurt all. _Cle._ How came you off? for I even long to hear that. _Dor._ After our prayers made to Heaven to help us, Or to be mercifull unto our souls; So near we were. Alas poor wench, wipe, wipe. See Heaven sends remedy. _Cal._ I am glad 'tis come Sir, My heart was even a bleeding in my body.