Act IV

SCENE I.—The Roman Camp. The Tent of Junius.

Enter Petillius, Junius, Decius, and Demetrius, singing.

Pet. Smooth was his cheek,

Dec. And his chin it was sleek,

Jun. With, whoop, he has done wooing!

Dem. Junius was this captain’s name,
A lad for a lass’s viewing.

Pet. Full black his eye, and plump his thigh,

Dec. Made up for love’s pursuing.

Dem. Smooth was his cheek,

Pet. And his chin it was sleek,

Jun. With, whoop, he has done wooing!

Pet. O my vex’d thief, art thou come home again?
Are thy brains perfect?

Jun. Sound as bells.

Pet. Thy back-worm
Quiet, and cast his sting, boy?

Jun. Dead, Petillius,
Dead to all folly, and now my anger only—

Pet. Why, that’s well said; hang Cupid and his quiver,
A drunken brawling boy! Thy honour’d saint
Be thy ten shillings, Junius; there’s the money,
And there’s the ware; square dealing: This but sweats thee
Like a nesh nag, and makes thee look pin-buttock’d;
The other runs thee whining up and down
Like a pig in a storm, fills thy brains full of ballads,
And shows thee like a long Lent, thy brave body
Turn’d to a tail of green fish without butter.

Dec. When thou lovest next, love a good cup of wine,
A mistress for a king! she leaps to kiss thee,
Her red and white’s her own, she makes good blood,
Takes none away; what she heats sleep can help,
Without a groping surgeon.

Jun. I am counsel’d;
And henceforth, when I dote again—

Dem. Take heed;
Ye had almost paid for’t.

Pet. Love no more great ladies;
Thou canst not step amiss then; there’s no delight in ’em:
All’s in the whistling of their snatcht-up silks;
They’re only made for handsome view, not handling;
Their bodies of so weak and wash a temper,
A rough-paced bed will shake them all to pieces;
A tough hen pulls their teeth out, tires their souls;

Plenæ rimarum sunt, they are full of rinnet,
And take the skin off where they’re tasted: Shun ’em;
They live in cullisses, like rotten cocks,
Stew’d to a tenderness that holds no tack;
Give me a thing I may crush.

Jun. Thou speak’st truly:
The wars shall be my mistress now.

Pet. Well chosen!
For she’s a bouncing lass; she’ll kiss thee at night, boy,
And break thy pate i’ th’ morning.

Jun. Yesterday
I found those favours infinite.