_Mount._ Ye have won: I'll once be coward To pleasure you. _Mir._ I kiss your hands, and thank ye. _Mount._ Be tender of my credit, and fight bravely. _Mir._ Blow not the fire that flames. _Mount._ I'll send mine Armor, My man shall presently attend ye with it, For you must arm immediately, the hour calls, I know 'twill fit ye right; be sure, and secret, And last be fortunate; farewel: ye are fitted: I am glad the load's off me. _Mir._ My best _Mountferrat_. [_Exeunt._ _Scæna Quarta._ _Enter_ Norandine _and Doctor_. _Nor._ Doctor, I will see the Combat, that's the truth on't If I had never a leg, I would crawl to see it. _Doct._ You are most unfit, if I might counsel ye, Your wounds so many, and the air-- _Nor._ The Halter; The air's as good an air, as fine an air; Wouldst thou have me live in an Oven? _Doct._ Beside the noise, Sir: Which to a tender body. _Nor._ That's it, Doctor, My body must be cur'd withal: if you'll heal me quickly, Boil a Drum-head in my broth: I never prosper, With knuckles o' Veal, and birds in Sorrel sops, Cawdles, and Cullysses; they wash me away Like a horse had eaten grains: if thou wilt cure me, A pickled herring, and a pottle of Sack: Doctor, And half a dozen Trumpets. _Doct._ Y' are a strange Gentleman. _Nor._ As e'r thou knew'st: wilt thou give me another glister That I may sit cleanly there like a _French_ Lady, When she goes to a Mask at Court? where's thy hoboy? _Doct._ I am glad ye are grown so merry. _Nor._ Welcome Gent[l]emen. _Enter_ Astor., _and_ Castr. _Ast._ We come to see you, Sir; and glad we are To see you thus, thus forward to your health, Sir. _Nor._ I thank my Doctor here. _Doct._ Nay, thank your self, Sir, For by my troth, I know not how he's cur'd, He ne'r observes any of our prescriptions. _Nor._ Give me my Money again then, good sweet Doctor, Wilt thou have twenty shillings a day for vexing me. _Doct._ That shall not serve ye Sir; [_Drums afar off. A low March._ _Nor._ Th[e]n forty shall Sir, And that will make ye speak well: hark the Drums. _Cast._ They begin to beat to th' field: Oh noble _Dane_, Never was such a stake, I hope of innocence Plaid for in _Malta_, and in bloud before. _Ast._ It makes us hang our heads all. _Nor._ A bold villain: If there be treason in it: accuse poor Ladies? And yet they may do mischief too: I'll be with ye: If she be innocent, I shall find it quickly, And something then I'll say. _Ast._ Come, lean on us, Sir. _Nor._ I thank ye Gentlemen: and _Domine Doctor_, Pray bring a little sneezing powder in your pocket, For fear I sound when I see [bloud]. _Doct._ You are pleasant. [_Exeunt._