Car. And you would hang ’em?

Nen. Are they not enemies?

1 Sold. My breech makes buttons.

1 Daugh. Are they not our tormentors?

Car. Tormentors? flea-traps!—
Pluck off your halters, fellows.

Nen. Take heed, Caratach;
Taint not your wisdom.

Car. Wisdom, Nennius?
Why, who shall fight against us, make our honours,
And give a glorious day into our hands,
If we dispatch our foes thus? What’s their offence?
Stealing a loaf or two to keep out hunger?
A piece of greasy bacon, or a pudding?
Do these deserve the gallows? They are hungry,
Poor hungry knaves, no meat at home left, starved:
Art thou not hungry?

Judas. Monstrous hungry.

Car. He looks like Hunger’s self. Get ’em some victuals,
And wine to cheer their hearts; quick! Hang up poor pilchers?

2 Sold. This is the bravest captain—

Nen. Caratach,
I’ll leave you to your will.

Car. I’ll answer all, sir.

2 Daugh. Let’s up and view his entertainment of ’em!
I am glad they are shifted anyway; their tongues else
Would still have murder’d us.

1 Daugh. Let’s up and see it!

[Exeunt.

Enter Hengo.

Car. Sit down, poor knaves! Why, where’s this wine and victuals?
Who waits there?

Serv. [Within.] Sir, ’tis coming.

Hengo. Who are these, uncle?

Car. They are Romans, boy.

Hengo. Are these they
That vex mine aunt so? can these fight? they look
Like empty scabbards all, no mettle in ’em;
Like men of clouts, set to keep crows from orchards:
Why, I dare fight with these.

Enter Servants with victuals and wine, and set out a table.

Car. That’s my good chicken!—And how do ye?
How do ye feel your stomachs?

Judas. Wond’rous apt, sir;
As shall appear when time calls.

Car. That’s well; down with’t.
A little grace will serve your turns. Eat softly!
You’ll choke, ye knaves, else.—Give’em wine!