SCENE III.

_Enter_ NICETES _and_ ARAMNES, _with some Captains and Soldiers_.

NIC. Yonder's the bones o' th' army ralli'd up Together, but they look'd rather as if They came home from being soundly beaten. Methinks such tatter'd rogues should never conquer, Victory would look so scurvily among 'em, They'd so bedaub her if she wore clean linen.

CAPT. Sir, we wear as sound hearts in these torn breeches, As e'er a courtier of them all. We are not afraid of spoiling our hands for want Of gloves, nor need we almond-butter, when We go to bed. And though my lieutenant Is pleased to be a little merry, you Shall see us die as handsomely in these old clothes As those wear better, and become our wounds As well, and perhaps smell as sweet When we are rotten.

PLAN. We hope it. Captains and fellow-soldiers, we are proud Of this occasion to try your valours; You shall go no farther than your prince doth, I'll be no bringer up of rears. Let not The number of the foe affright you, The more they are, the more will the honour be. The lion scorns to prey upon a hare, Nor is the blinking taper fit to try eagles' eyes. The weight of glory makes our danger light. When victory comes easily, 'tis half A shame to conquer.

[_Soldiers shout, and exeunt._

INO. I'll stay at home, and grieve, that so many Daring souls should die on such advantage.

[_Exit_ INOPHILUS.