I am a Lord, scarce spoken, but with reverence
A Rascal takes him o're the face, and fells him;
There lyes the Lord, the Lord be with him.

_Leo_. Now Sir,
Do you find this truth?

_Dem_. I would not.

_Lieu_. Pox upon it,
They have such tender bodies too; such Culisses,
That one good handsom blow breaks 'em a pieces.

_Leo_. How stands the Enemy?

_Lieu_. Even cool enough too:
For to say truth he has been shrewdly heated,
The Gentleman no doubt will fall to his jewlips.

_Leo_. He marches not i'th' tail on's.

_Lieu_. No, plague take him,
He'l kiss our tails as soon; he looks upon us,
As if he would say, if ye will turn again, friends,
We will belabor you a little better,
And beat a little more care into your coxcombs.
Now shall we have damnable Ballads out against us,
Most wicked madrigals: and ten to one, Colonel,
Sung to such lowsie, lamentable tunes.