ght,--to the left,--wheele about--

_Cap_. Ran tan: enough,--you must not wast your lunges
Too much at once. March faire and make a Captaine.
When these words of Command are rotten (rooted?) wee
Will sowe some other military seeds.
You beare[252] a braine and memory.

_Un_. I hope so.

[_Cap_.[253]] And now you are chose a Captaine for your Countrey
You must give good example to your Soldiers
And cherish nature after exercise:
You must drinke sack, sack is a fortifier.
Come, wee'le to the taverne.

_Un_. With all my heart.

[_Enter Mr. Courtwell_.

Here's Mr. _Courtwell_: lett's take him with us.

_Cap_. My costive Countrey man? hee's an Anabaptist: he wonot drinke,
and yet kist the Cupp of last night, me thought, when his Mistres--
drank to him: wee'le try. How ist, my man of mortall breeding?

_Cou_. My man of warre, trebonn.--Your servant, Captaine.

_Cap_. Why, this was spoke like one of us; canst doo't
Agen? thy voice is more authentick, soundes
As I have heard a Cavalliers in taverne,
Or like the merry master of the _Dragon_,
Small _Neptune_, that controlls the rich Canaries,
When he Comaunds the Tritons of his cellar
'Skud, and bring wine, you varlotts, with a flavour
For my Nobilitie.' Wee were conspiring
To goe to'th taverne.

_Cou_. Ile make one, gentlemen, to wash away some melancholy.

_Cap_. Spoke boldlie, like an _Argonaute_.

_Cou_. I am not now in _London_,
Upon a hall day marching with the puisnes,
Twenty on's in a teame, to _Westminster_
In our torne gownes, embroiderd with _Strand_ dirt,
To heare the Law.

_Cap_. Is not thy father dead, thou talkst so well?
How I was cosend in thee: come away.

_Enter Thomas_.

_Un_. Here's my man _Thomas_.

_Cap_. Now the Newes, Sir _Tristram_.

_Tho_. Oh the Gentleman is mad.

_Un_. What gentleman?

_Tho_. Why, Mr. Engine that did faint last night.

_Un_. With feare of being hang'd for his projections.

_Cou_. My Uncle told me of him.

_Cap. Let him to _Bedlam_ then; what makes he here?
Clean straw and a good whip are held restoratives.

_Tho_. He walkes and talkes the madliest; twenty midwives
Are nothing to him, he drownes all their noise.
His tongue is twenty ring of Bells, and yett
He seemes so merry.

_Enter Engine_.

_En_. Save you, gentlemen, gallants, Cavalliers. How farre travell you:
me thinkes you are very finely accomodated. Are you a Doctor, sir?

_Cap_. No, but I can tell you how to purge, and plea