Ile do it in my shirt
Dum. Most resolute Pompey
Page. Master, let me take you a button hole lower:
Do you not see Pompey is vncasing for the combat: what
meane you? you will lose your reputation
Brag. Gentlemen and Souldiers pardon me, I will
not combat in my shirt
Du. You may not denie it, Pompey hath made the
challenge
Brag. Sweet bloods, I both may, and will
Ber. What reason haue you for't?
Brag. The naked truth of it is, I haue no shirt,
I go woolward for penance
Boy. True, and it was inioyned him in Rome for want
of Linnen: since when, Ile be sworne he wore none, but
a dishclout of Iaquenettas, and that hee weares next his
heart for a fauour.
Enter a Messenger, Monsieur Marcade.
Mar. God saue you Madame
Qu. Welcome Marcade, but that thou interruptest
our merriment
Marc. I am sorrie Madam, for the newes I bring is
heauie in my tongue. The King your father
Qu. Dead for my life
Mar. Euen so: My tale is told
Ber. Worthies away, the Scene begins to cloud
Brag. For mine owne part, I breath free breath: I
haue seene the day of wrong, through the little hole of
discretion, and I will right my selfe like a Souldier.
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