_Pet_. _Thomasin_, leave this pace & take me with you[124]. My Lord
loves your Lady, yet I heare she is this night betrothed to the Prince
of France: I love you & shall I lose you? No: I hate prolixity; in a
word, the end is Ile mary you.

_Tho_. Prety, as God save me! What will Captaine Bowyer say to that if
he should know it?

_Bow_.--A good Rogue, by Jesu!

_Pet_. Bowyer a Captayne? a Capon, a button mould, a lame haberdine[125],
a red beard Sprat, a Yellowhammer, a bow case, a very Jackdaw with his
toung slit.

_Bow_.--Zounds, what a Philistine is this! what a dictionary of proper
names hath the Rogue got together! heart, his toung crawles as fast as
the cheese doth in Germany. Ile pearce you for this, you Lobster.

_Pet_. Bowyer? _mordu! futra_[126] for him! and that sowre crab do but
leere at thee I shall squeeze him to Vargis[127].

_Bow_. And you squeeze me I may haps grow saucy with you, you whorson
burnd Pudding pye, you drye Parsnip. Kisse me, Thomasin. So, dare you
stand to your word now and squeeze me.

_Pet_. Stumps, I challenge thee for this indignity. Bowyer, I will gyrd
my selfe with thy guts. I am a souldiour and a Captayne.

_Bow_. Captayne? s'hart, and thou hast under thy charge any other then
Pigmies I am a Gogmagog. Dost thou heare, sowgelder? and I do not with
sixe Cranes (wel marshald) overrunne thee and thy hundred and fifty, say
Dick Bowyer's a coward.

_Pet_. For that word draw.

_Tho_. Hold, Gentlemen.

_Bow_. Peace, good Thomasin, silence, sweet socket [sucket?]. Peter,
dost see this sword? this sword kild Sarlaboys, that was one Rogue: now
it shall kill thee, that's two Rogues. Whorson puttock[128], no garbage
serve you but this? have at you!

_As they fight enters Pembrooke_.

_Pem_. Who's this at enmity within our Camps?
What! Bowyer and the servant to great Burbon?
Both sheathe your weapons: by our martiall law
This act is death.

_Bow_. Ile be hangd then. Dost thou heare, noble Generall? Dicke Bowyer
knowes what belongs to service: we did not draw of any malice, by this
element of iron & steele, but to measure which of our swords were
longest.--Ile save you for once, you Sarazen, because I see youle hang
scurvily: but the next time--

_Pem_. Good Captayne Bowyer, let our English troops
Keepe a strong watch to night: my throbbing heart,
Like to a Scritchowle in the midnight houre,
Bodes some black scene of mischiefe imminent.

_Bow_. Never feare, Generall: i