_Duke._ Seek me out Grooms. Men more insensible of reputation, Less curious and precise in terms of honor, That if my anger chance let fall a stroke, As we are all subject to impetuous passions, Yet it may pass unmurmur'd, undisputed; And not with braver fury prosecuted. [_Exit._ _1 Gent._ It shall be done, my Lord. _3 Gent._ Know you the cause, Sir? _1 Gent._ Not I kind Gentlemen, but by conjectures, And so much shall be yours when you please. _4._ Thanks Sir. _3 Gent._ We shall i'th mean time think our selves guilty Of some foul fault, through ignorance committed. _1 Gent._ No, 'tis not that, nor that way. _4 Gent._ For my part, I shall be dis-inherited, I know so much. _1 Gent._ Why Sir, for what? _4 Gent._ My Sire's of a strange humor, He'll form faults for me, and then swear 'em mine, And commonly the first begins with leachery, He knows his own youths trespass. _1 Gent._ Before you go, I'll come and take my leave, and tell you all Sirs. _3 Gent._ Thou wert ever just and kind. [_Exit._ _1 Gent._ That's my poor virtue, Sir, And parcel valiant; but it's hard to be perfect: The choosing of these fellows now will puzle me, Horribly puzle me; and there's no judgement Goes true upon mans outside, there's the mischief: He must be touch'd, and try'd, for gold or dross; There is no other way for't, and that's dangerous too; But since I'm put in trust, [I] will attempt it: The Duke shall keep one daring man about him. _Enter a Gallant._ Soft, who comes here? a pretty bravery this: Every one goes so like a Gentleman, 'Tis hard to find a difference, but by th' touch. I'll try your mettal sure. _Gal._ Why what do you mean Sir? _1 Gent._ Nay, and you understand it not, I do not. _Gal._ Yes, would you should well know, I understand it for a box o'th' ear Sir. _1 Gent._ And o'my troth, that's all I gave it for. _Gal._ 'Twere best it be so. _1 Gent._ This is a brave Coward, A jolly threat'ning Coward; he shall be Captain: Sir, let me meet you an hour hence i'th' Lobby. _Gal._ Meet you? the world might laugh at [me] then i'faith. _1 Ge._ Lay by your scorn and pride, they're scurvy qualities, And meet me, or I'll box you while I have you, And carry you gambril'd thither like a Mutton. _Gal._ Nay, and you be in earnest, here's my hand. I will not fail you. _1 Gent._ 'Tis for your own good. _Gal._ Away. _1 Gent._ Too much for your own good, Sir, a pox on you. _Gal._ I prethee curse me all day long so. _1 Gent._ Hang you. _Gal._ I'll make him mad: he's loth to curse too much to me; Indeed I never yet took box o'th' ear, But it redounded, I must needs say so-- _1 Gent._ Will you be gone?