ACT II., SCENE 1.

_Enter_ PLANGUS, NICETES, ARAMNES.

NIC. What, sir, and are you melancholy, when fate Hath shower'd a happiness so unexpected on us? This ugly, sneaking peace is the soldier's rock He splits his fortunes on. Bawdry's a virtue to't. Pox o' these beaver hats, they make one's headache Worse than a cap of steel: and bear not off a knock The tenth part so well.

PLAN. You're mad for fighting, gentlemen, And we shall have enough of it. The Argives, fifty thousand strong, Have like a whirlwind borne down all before 'em; And I, with thirteen thousand, that remain Undisbanded of the last expedition, Have command to fight that multitude Of old tough soldiers: while ours, In a month or two, won't have pick'd up that valour That in this idle time hath slipp'd from them. They have forgot what noise a musket makes; And start if they but hear a drum. Are these fellows either enow, or fit, On whom a kingdom's safety should be built? Indeed, were they to encounter some mistress, Or storm a brothel-house, perhaps they'd venture; But for my part I yield; nor would I oppose my father: If he sees good we perish, I am already Sacrific'd; yet our enemies shall dearly purchase Their victory. Pray look to your charge, Nicetes, And you, Aramnes, with all care and speed; and when You come into the field, then let me see This countenance, that frowning smile, and I Shall like it: I love a man runs laughing Upon death. But we lose time in talk.

[_Exeunt_ NICETES _and_ ARAMNES.