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