the curse of Souldiers, that in peace They shall be brain'd by such ignoble men, As (if the Land were troubled) would with tears And knees beg succour from 'em: would that blood (That sea of blood) that I have lost in fight, Were running in thy veins, that it might make thee Apt to say less, or able to maintain, Shouldst thou say more,--This Rhodes I see is nought But a place priviledg'd to do men wrong.
Cal. I, you may say your pleasure.
Amint. What vilde injury Has stirr'd my worthy friend, who is as slow To fight with words, as he is quick of hand?
Mel. That heap of age which I should reverence If it were temperate: but testy years Are most contemptible.
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