e not at all. Daughter, saw you
The Prince or _Pembrooke_ which way they are gone?

_Kath_. Backe to their Tents, my Lord, as I suppose.

_Lew_. Back to their tents and take no leave of us?
Nay, then I feare their meaning was too smoothe
And some black Treason cover'd in their smiles.
Which we will seeke immediately to prevent.

[_Exeunt_.

_Actus Secundus_.

[SCENE 1.]

_Enter Dicke Bowyer and soldiers, with Drum and colours_.

_Bow_. Stand, give the word along, stand.

_Lieu_. Stand there!

_Bow_. Lieutenant.

_Lieu_. Captayne.

_Bow_. Is the watch set in the King's quarter yet.

_Lieu_. An houre agoe.

_Bow_. 'Zounds what foolish Canaanits were they to run in debt to their
eyes for an houres sleepe sooner then they needed! Sergeant.

_Ser_. Anon, Sir.

_Bow_. Anon, Sir! s'hart the Rogue answers like a Drawer, but tis the
tricke of most of these Sergeants, all clincum clancum. Gods dynes[118],
I am an _Onyon_ if I had not rather serve formost in the forlorne hoope
of a battell or runne poynt blancke against the mouth of a double
charged Cannon then come under the arrests of some their pewter pessels.
Zounds, tis hotter a great deale then hell mouth and _Dives_ burning in
Sulphur: but thou art none of the genealogy of them. Where must we watch
to night?

_Serg_. In the furthest Trenches that confront the enemies campe.

_Bow_. Thats the next way to have all our throats cut.

_Lieu_. That cannot be; you know, Captain, there's a peace toward.

_Bow_. A pox a peace, it keeps our Ancient whole, but s'hart our
gaberdines go to wrack. But _futra_! tis well known since _Dick Bowyer_
came to France he hath shewed himselfe a gentleman and a Cavaliero and
sets feare at's heeles. And I could scape (a pox on it) th'other thing,
I might haps return safe and sound to England. But what remedy? al flesh
is grasse and some of us must needes be scorcht in this hote Countrey.
Lieutenant _Core_, prithee lead my Band to their quarter; and the rogues
do not as they should, cram thy selfe, good _Core_, downe their throats
and choak them. Who stands Sentronell to night, Sir?

_Sol_. That must I, Captayne.

_Bow_. You, _Rafe Nod_? zounds, soldiers, follow my discipline, say your
prayers, you are all dead men, all dust and ashes, all wormes meat.

_Lieu_. How so, Captayne?

_Bow_. Doe you make him Sentronell? s'hart heele nod[119] presently: and
he do not sleepe