_Green._ Here. _Ralph._ What, in a paper? As I am a soldier and a gentleman, it craves a martial court: you ought to die for't. Where's your horn? Answer me to that. _Green._ An't like you, sir, I was oblivious. _Ralph._ It likes me not it should be so; 'tis a shame for you, and a scandal to all our neighbours, being a man of worth and estimation, to leave your horn behind you: I am afraid 'twill breed example. But let me tell you no more on't; stand till I view you all. What's become o' th' nose of your flask? _1st Sold._ Indeed, la' captain, 'twas blown away with powder. _Ralph._ Put on a new one at the city's charge. Where's the flint of this piece? _2nd Sold._ The drummer took it out to light tobacco. _Ralph._ 'Tis a fault, my friend; put it in again. You want a nose, and you a flint; sergeant, take a note on't, for I mean to stop it in their pay. Remove and march; soft and fair, gentlemen, soft and fair: double your files; as you were; faces about. Now you with the sodden face, keep in there: look to your match, sirrah, it will be in your fellow's flask anon. So make a crescent now, advance your pikes, stand and give ear. Gentlemen, countrymen, friends, and my fellow-soldiers, I have brought you this day from the shop of security and the counters of content, to measure out in these furious fields honour by the ell and prowess by the pound. Let it not, O let it not, I say, be told hereafter, the noble issue of this city fainted; but bear yourselves in this fair action like men, valiant men, and free men. Fear not the face of the enemy, nor the noise of the guns; for believe me, brethren, the rude rumbling of a brewer's car is more terrible, of which you have a daily experience: neither let the stink of powder offend you, since a more valiant stink is always with you. To a resolved mind his home is everywhere. I speak not this to take away the hope of your return; for you shall see (I do not doubt it), and that very shortly, your loving wives again, and your sweet children, whose care doth bear you company in baskets. Remember, then, whose cause you have in hand, and like a sort of true-born scavengers, scour me this famous realm of enemies. I have no more to say but this: Stand to your tacklings, lads, and show to the world you can as well brandish a sword as shake an apron. Saint George, and on, my hearts! _Omnes._ Saint George, Saint George! [_Exeunt._ _Wife._ 'Twas well done, Ralph; I'll send thee a cold capon a field, and a bottle of March beer; and, it may be, come myself to see thee. _Cit._ Nell, the boy hath deceived me much; I did not think it had been in him. He has perform'd such a matter, wench, that, if I live, next year I'll have him Captain of the Gallifoist, or I'll want my will. _Enter_ OLD MERRY-THOUGHT.