[Enter Sir Arthur and Lucy.]

LUCY.
Sir, as I am a maid, I do affect
You above any suitor that I have,
Although that soldiers scarce knows how to love.

ARTHUR.
I am a soldier, and a gentleman,
Knows what belongs to war, what to a lady:
What man offends me, that my sword shall right:
What woman loves me, I am her faithful knight.

LUCY.
I neither doubt your valour, nor your love,
But there be some that bares a soldier's form,
That swears by him they never think upon,
Goes swaggering up and down from house to house,
Crying God peace: and--

ARTHUR.
Yfaith, Lady, I'll discry you such a man,
of them there be many which you have spoke of,
That bear the name and shape of soldiers,
Yet God knows very seldom saw the war:
That haunt your taverns, and your ordinaries,
Your ale-houses sometimes, for all a-like
To uphold the brutish humour of their minds,
Being marked down, for the bondmen of despair:
Their mirth begins in wine, but ends in blood,