_Leo._ But I beseech your Grace, with speed; the sooner
We are i'th' field.--

_Dem._ You could not please me better. [_Exit_.

_Leo._ You never saw the wars yet?

_Gent._ Not yet Colonel.

_Leo._ These foolish Mistresses do so hang about ye,
So whimper, and so hug, I know it Gentlemen,
And so intice ye, now ye are i'th' bud;
And that sweet tilting war, with eyes and kisses,
Th' alarms of soft vows, and sighs, and fiddle faddles,
Spoils all our trade: you must forget these knick knacks,
A woman at some time of year, I grant ye
She is necessarie; but make no business of her.
How now Lieutenant?

_Enter_ Lieutenant.

_Lieu._ Oh Sir, as ill as ever;
We shall have wars they say; they are mustring yonder:
Would we were at it once: fie, how it plagues me.

_Leo._ Here's one has served now under Captain _Cupid_,
And crackt a Pike in's youth: you see what's come on't.

_Lieu._ No, my disease will never prove so honourable.