_Mart._ Won him Sir, He would have yielded it upon his knees Before he would have hazarded the exchange Of a phil[l]ip of the forehead: had you will'd me I durst have undertook he should have sent you His Nose, provided that the loss of it Might have sav'd the rest of his face: he is, Sir The most unutterable coward that e'er nature Blest with hard shoulders, which were only given him, To the ruin of bastinados. _Thier._ Possible? _Theod._ Observe but how she frets. _Mart._ Why believe it: But that I know the shame of this disgrace, Will make the beast to live with such, and never Presume to come more among men; I'll hazard My life upon it, that a boy of twelve Should scourge him hither like a Parish Top, And make him dance before you. _Brun._ Slave thou liest, Thou dar'st as well speak Treason in the hearing Of those that have the power to punish it, As the least syllable of this before him, But 'tis thy hate to me. _Martel._ Nay, pray you Madam, I have no ears to hear you, though a foot To let you understand what he is. _Brun._ Villany. _Theod._ You are too violent. _Enter_ Protaldye. The worst that can come Is blanketing; for beating, and such virtues I have been long acquainted with. _Mart._ Oh strange! _Bawdb._ Behold the man you talk of. _Brun._ Give me leave, Or free thy self, (think in what place you are) From the foul imputation that is laid Upon thy valour (be bold, I'll protect you) Or here I vow (deny it or forswear it) These honors which thou wear'st unworthily, Which be but impudent enough, and keep them, Shall be torn from thee with thy eyes. _Prot._ I have it, My v[a]lour! is there any here beneath, The stile of King, dares question it? _Thier._ This is rare. _Prot._ Which of [my] actions, which have still been noble, Has rend'rd me suspected? _Thier._ Nay _Martel[l]_ You must not fall off. _Mart._ Oh Sir, fear it not, Doe you know this sword? _Prot._ Yes. _Mart._ Pray you on what terms Did you part with it? _Prot._ Part with it say you? _Mart._ So. _Thier._ Nay, study not an answer, confess freely. _Prot._ Oh I remember't now at the Stags [fall], As we to day were hunting, a poor fellow, And now I view you better, I may say Much of your pitch: this silly wretch I spoke of With his petition falling at my feet, (Which much against my Will he kist,) desir'd That as a special means for his preferment I would vouchsafe to let him use my sword, To cut off the Stags head. _Brun._ Will you hear that? _Bawdb._ This Lye bears a similitude of Truth. _Prot._ I ever courteous, (a great weakness in me) Granted his humble suit. _Mart._ Oh impudence! _Thier._ This change is excellent.