_Mir_. He shall make good his promise t'increase thy Farm, _Andrew_, or I'll jeer him to death. Fear nothing, _Lilly_, I am thy Champion. This jeast goes to _Charles_, and then I'll hunt him out, and Monsieur _Eustace_ the gallant Courtier, and laugh heartily to see 'em mourn together. _And_. 'Twill be rare, Sir. [_Exeunt_. _ACTUS QUINTUS. SCENA PRIMA._ _Enter_ Eustace, Egremont, Cowsy. _Eust_. Turn'd out of doors and baffled! _Egre_. We share with you in the affront. _Cow_. Yet bear it not like you with such dejection. _Eust_. My Coach and Horses made the ransom of our Cowardize! _Cow_. Pish, that's nothing, 'tis _damnum reparabile_, and soon recover'd. _Egre_. It is but feeding a Suitor with false hopes, and after squeeze him with a dozen of Oaths, You are new rigg'd, and this no more remembred. _Eust_. And does the Court, that should be the Example and Oracle of the Kingdom, read to us no other Doctrine? _Egre_. None that thrives so well as that, within my knowledge. _Cow_. Flattery rubs out; but since great men learn to admire themselves, 'tis something crest-faln. _Egre_. To be of no Religion, argues a subtle, moral understanding, and it is often cherish'd. _Eust_. Piety then, and valour, nor to do and suffer wrong, are they no virtues? _Egre_. Rather vices, _Eustace_; Fighting! what's fighting? it may be in fashion among provant swords, and Buff-jerkin men: But w'us that swim in choice of Silks and Tissues; though in defence of that word Reputation, which is indeed a kind of glorious nothing, to lose a dram of blood must needs appear as coarse as to be honest. _Eust_. And all this you seriously believe? _Cow_. It is a faith that we will die in, since from the black Guard to the grim Sir in Office, there are few hold other Tenets. _Eust_. Now my eyes are open, and I behold a strong necessity that keeps me knave and coward. _Cow_. Y'are the wiser. _Eust_. Nor can I change my copy, if I purpose to be of your society. _Egre_. By no means. _Eust_. Honour is nothing with you? _Cow_. A meer bubble; for what's grown common, is no more regarded. _Eust_. My sword forc'd from me too, and still detain'd, you think 'tis no blemish. _Egre_. Get me a Batton, 'tis twenty times more Court-like, and less trouble. _Eust_. And yet you wear a sword. _Cow. Yes, and a good one, a _Milan_ hilt, and a _Damasco_ blade for ornament, not use, the Court allows it. _Eust_. Will't not fight of it self? _Cow_. I ne'er tri'd this, yet I have worn as fair as any man; I'm sure I've made my Cutler rich, and paid for several weapons, _Turkish_ and _Toledo's_, two thousand Crowns, and yet could never light upon a fighting one. _Eust_. I'le borrow this, I like it well. _Cow_. 'Tis at your service, Sir, a Lath in a Velvet Scabbard will serve my turn.