CAR. Nay, indeed, swaggering is a good argument of resolution. Do you hear this, signior? MACI. Ay, to my grief. O, that such muddy flags, For every drunken flourish should achieve The name of manhood, whilst true perfect valour, Hating to shew itself, goes by despised! Heart! I do know now, in a fair just cause, I dare do more than he, a thousand times; Why should not they take knowledge of this, ha! And give my worth allowance before his? Because I cannot swagger. -- Now, the pox Light on your Pickt-hatch prowess! SOG. Why, I tell you, sir; he has been the only 'Bid-stand' that ever kept New-market, Salisbury-plain, Hockley i' the Hole, Gadshill, and all the high places of any request: he has had his mares and his geldings, he, have been worth forty, threescore, a hundred pound a horse, would ha' sprung you over the hedge and ditch like your greyhound: he has done five hundred robberies in his time, more or less, I assure you. PUNT. What, and scaped? SOG. Scaped! i'faith, ay: he has broken the gaol when he has been in irons and irons; and been out and in again; and out, and in; forty times, and not so few, he. MACI. A fit trumpet, to proclaim such a person. CAR. But can this be possible? SHIFT. Pardon me, my dear Orestes; causes have their quiddits, and 'tis ill jesting with bell-ropes. CAR. How! Pylades and Orestes? SOG. Ay, he is my Pylades, and I am his Orestes: how like you the conceit? CAR. O, 'tis an old stale interlude device; no, I'll give you names myself, look you; he shall be your Judas, and you shall be his elder-tree to hang on. MACI. Nay, rather let him be captain Pod, and this his motion: for he does nothing but shew him. CAR. Excellent: or thus; you shall be Holden, and he your camel. SHIFT. You do not mean to ride, gentlemen? PUNT. Faith, let me end it for you, gallants: you shall be his Countenance, and he your Resolution. SOG. Troth, that's pretty: how say you, cavalier, shall it be so? CAR. Ay, ay, most voices. SHIFT. Faith, I am easily yielding to any good impressions. SOG. Then give hands, good Resolution. CAR. Mass, he cannot say, good Countenance, now, properly, to him again. PUNT. Yes, by an irony. MACI. O, sir, the countenance of Resolution should, as he is, be altogether grim and unpleasant. ENTER FASTIDIOUS BRISK. FAST. Good hours make music with your mirth, gentlemen, and keep time to your humours! -- How now, Carlo? PUNT. Monsieur Brisk? many a long look have I extended for you, sir.