Clo. I wil not fight with a pole like a Northern man; Ile slash, Ile do it by the sword: I pray you let mee borrow my Armes againe Dum. Roome for the incensed Worthies Clo. Ile do it in my shirt Dum. Most resolute Pompey Page. Master, let me take you a button hole lower: Do you not see Pompey is vncasing for the combat: what meane you? you will lose your reputation Brag. Gentlemen and Souldiers pardon me, I will not combat in my shirt Du. You may not denie it, Pompey hath made the challenge Brag. Sweet bloods, I both may, and will Ber. What reason haue you for't? Brag. The naked truth of it is, I haue no shirt, I go woolward for penance Boy. True, and it was inioyned him in Rome for want of Linnen: since when, Ile be sworne he wore none, but a dishclout of Iaquenettas, and that hee weares next his heart for a fauour. Enter a Messenger, Monsieur Marcade. Mar. God saue you Madame Qu. Welcome Marcade, but that thou interruptest our merriment Marc. I am sorrie Madam, for the newes I bring is heauie in my tongue. The King your father Qu. Dead for my life Mar. Euen so: My tale is told Ber. Worthies away, the Scene begins to cloud Brag. For mine owne part, I breath free breath: I haue seene the day of wrong, through the little hole of discretion, and I will right my selfe like a Souldier. Exeunt. Worthies Kin. How fare's your Maiestie? Qu. Boyet prepare, I will away to night Kin. Madame not so, I do beseech you stay Qu. Prepare I say. I thanke you gracious Lords For all your faire endeuours and entreats: Out of a new sad-soule, that you vouchsafe, In your rich wisedome to excuse, or hide, The liberall opposition of our spirits, If ouer-boldly we haue borne our selues, In the conuerse of breath (your gentlenesse Was guiltie of it.) Farewell worthie Lord: A heauie heart beares not a humble tongue. Excuse me so, comming so short of thankes, For my great suite, so easily obtain'd Kin. The extreme parts of time, extremelie formes All causes to the purpose of his speed: And often at his verie loose decides That, which long processe could not arbitrate. And though the mourning brow of progenie Forbid the smiling curtesie of Loue: The holy suite which faine it would conuince, Yet since loues argument was first on foote, Let not the cloud of sorrow iustle it From what it purpos'd: since to waile friends lost, Is not by much so wholsome profitable, As to reioyce at friends but newly found Qu. I vnderstand you not, my greefes are double