LOR. JU. In what place was that service, I pray you, sir? BOB. Why, at the beleaguering of Ghibelletto, where, in less than two hours, seven hundred resolute gentlemen, as any were in Europe, lost their lives upon the breach: I'll tell you, gentlemen, it was the first, but the best leaguer that ever I beheld with these eyes, except the taking in of Tortosa last year by the Genoways, but that (of all other) was the most fatal and dangerous exploit that ever I was ranged in, since I first bore arms before the face of the enemy, as I am a gentleman and a soldier. STEP. So, I had as lief as an angel I could swear as well as that gentleman. LOR. JU. Then you were a servitor at both, it seems. BOB. O Lord, sir: by Phaeton, I was the first man that entered the breach, and had I not effected it with resolution, I had been slain if I had had a million of lives. LOR. JU. Indeed, sir? STEP. Nay, an you heard him discourse you would say so: how like you him? BOB. I assure you (upon my salvation) 'tis true, and yourself shall confess. PROS. You must bring him to the rack first. BOB. Observe me judicially, sweet Signior: they had planted me a demi-culverin just in the mouth of the breach; now, sir, (as we were to ascend), their master gunner (a man of no mean skill and courage, you must think,) confronts me with his linstock ready to give fire; I spying his intendment, discharged my petronel in his bosom, and with this instrument, my poor rapier, ran violently upon the Moors that guarded the ordnance, and put them pell-mell to the sword. PROS. To the sword? to the rapier, Signior. LOR. JU. Oh, it was a good figure observed, sir: but did you all this, Signior, without hurting your blade? BOB. Without any impeach on the earth: you shall perceive, sir, it is the most fortunate weapon that ever rid on a poor gentleman's thigh: shall I tell you, sir? you talk of Morglay, Excalibur, Durindana, or so: tut, I lend no credit to that is reported of them, I know the virtue of mine own, and therefore I dare the boldlier maintain it. STEP. I marle whether it be a Toledo or no? BOB. A most perfect Toledo, I assure you, Signior. STEP. I have a countryman of his here. MAT. Pray you let's see, sir: yes, faith, it is. BOB. This a Toledo? pish! STEP. Why do you pish, Signior? BOB. A Fleming, by Phoebus! I'll buy them for a guilder a piece, an I'll have a thousand of them. LOR. JU. How say you, cousin? I told you thus much. PROS. Where bought you it, Signior? STEP. Of a scurvy rogue soldier, a pox of God on him, he swore it was a Toledo. BOB. A provant rapier, no better. MAT. Mass, I think it be indeed. LOR. JU. Tut, now it's too late to look on it, put it up, put it up.