nor believe he can have every thing in him
by wearing his apparel neatly.
Well, that's set down.
Five or six thousand horse, I said,-- I will say
true,--or thereabouts, set down, for I'll speak truth.
He's very near the truth in this.
But I con him no thanks for't, in the nature he
delivers it.
Poor rogues, I pray you, say.
Well, that's set down.
I humbly thank you, sir: a truth's a truth, the
rogues are marvellous poor.
'Demand of him, of what strength they are
a-foot.' What say you to that?
By my troth, sir, if I were to live this present
hour, I will tell true. Let me see: Spurio, a
hundred and fifty; Sebastian, so many; Corambus, so
many; Jaques, so many; Guiltian, Cosmo, Lodowick,
and Gratii, two hundred and fifty each; mine own
company, Chitopher, Vaumond, Bentii, two hundred and
fifty each: so that the muster-file, rotten and
sound, upon my life, amounts not to fifteen thousand
poll; half of the which dare not shake snow from off
their cassocks, lest they shake themselves to pieces.
What shall be done to him?
Nothing, but let him have thanks. Demand of him my
condition, and what credit I have with the duke.
Well, that's set down.
'You shall demand of him, whether one Captain Dumain
be i' the camp, a Frenchman; what his reputation is
with the duke; what his valour, honesty, and
expertness in wars; or whether he thinks it were not
possible, with well-weighing sums of gold, to
corrupt him to revolt.' What say you to this? what
do you know of it?
I beseech you, let me answer to the particular of
the inter'gatories: demand them singly.
Do you know this Captain Dumain?
I know him: a' was a botcher's 'prentice in Paris,
from whence he was whipped for getting the shrieve's
fool with child,--a dumb innocent, that could not
say him nay.
Nay, by your leave, hold your hands; though I know
his brains are forfeit to the next tile that falls.
Well, is this captain in the duke of Florence's camp?
Upon my knowledge, he is, and lousy.
Nay look not so upon me; we shall hear of your
lordship anon.
What is his reputation with the duke?
The duke knows him for no other but a poor officer
of mine; and writ to me this other day to turn him
out o' the band: I think I have his letter in my pocket.
Marry, we'll search.
In good sadness, I do not know; either it is there,
or it is upon a file with the duke's other letters
in my tent.
Here