_Wife._ I know he is an hundred drachmaes o'the score; but what o' that? no bloodshed, sweet _Cornelius_. O my heart; o' my conscience 't is faln thorow the bottom of my bellie. O my sweet Didimus, if either of ye miskil one another, what will become of [p]oor _Florence_? Pacifie your selves, I pray. _Corn._ Go to, my heart is not stone; I am not marble: drie your eyes, _Florence_; the scurvie apes-face knows my blinde side well enough: leave your puling; will this content ye? let him tast thy nether lip, which in signe of amitie I thus take off again: go thy ways, and provide the Cows udder. _Nich._ Lilie of Concord. And now, honest Sutler, since I have had proof as well of thy good nature, as of thy wives before, I will acquaint thee with a project shall fully satisfie thee for thy debt. Thou shalt understand I am shortly to be knighted. _Corn._ The devil thou art. _Nich._ Renounce me else; for the sustenance of which Worship (which Worship many times wants sustenance) I have here the Generals grant to have the leading of two hundred men. _Corn._ You jest, you jest. _Nich._ Refuse me else to the pit. _Corn._ Mercie on us: ha you not forgot your self? by you[r] swearing you should be knighted already. _Nich._ Damn me, Sir, here's his hand, read it. _Corn._ Alas, I cannot. _Nich._ I know that. It has pleas'd the General to look upon my service. Now, Sir, shall you joyn with me in petitioning for fifty men more, in regard of my arrearages to you; which if granted, I will bestow the whole profit of those fifty men on thee and thine heirs for ever, till _Atropos_ do cut this simple thred. _Corn._ No more, dear Corporal, Sir _Nichodemus_, that shall be, I cry your wishes mercie: I am your servant body and goods, moveables and immoveables; use my house, use my wife, use me, abuse me, do what you list. _Nich._ A figment is a candid lye: this is an old Pass. Mark what follows. [_Exeunt._ _Enter Martius, and two Captains._