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First Servingman:
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I think he is: but a greater soldier than he you wot on.
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Second Servingman:
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Who, my master?
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First Servingman:
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Nay, it's no matter for that.
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Second Servingman:
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Worth six on him.
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First Servingman:
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Nay, not so neither: but I take him to be the
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greater soldier.
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Second Servingman:
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Faith, look you, one cannot tell how to say that:
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for the defence of a town, our general is excellent.
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First Servingman:
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Ay, and for an assault too.
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Third Servingman:
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O slaves, I can tell you news,-- news, you rascals!
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First Servingman:
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What, what, what? let's partake.
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Third Servingman:
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I would not be a Roman, of all nations; I had as
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lieve be a condemned man.
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First Servingman:
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Wherefore? wherefore?
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Third Servingman:
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Why, here's he that was wont to thwack our general,
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Caius Marcius.
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First Servingman:
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Why do you say 'thwack our general '?
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Third Servingman:
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I do not say 'thwack our general;' but he was always
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good enough for him.
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Second Servingman:
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Come, we are fellows and friends: he was ever too
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hard for him; I have heard him say so himself.
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First Servingman:
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He was too hard for him directly, to say the troth
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on't: before Corioli he scotched him and notched
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him like a carbon ado.
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Second Servingman:
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An he had been cannibally given, he might have
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broiled and eaten him too.
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First Servingman:
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But, more of thy news?
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Third Servingman:
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Why, he is so made on here within, as if he were son
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and heir to Mars; set at upper end o' the table; no
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question asked him by any of the senators, but they
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stand bald before him: our general himself makes a
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mistress of him: sanctifies himself with's hand and
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turns up the white o' the eye to his discourse. But
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the bottom of the news is that our general is cut i'
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the middle and but one half of what he was
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yesterday; for the other has half, by the entreaty
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and grant of the whole table. He'll go, he says,
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and sowl the porter of Rome gates by the ears: he
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will mow all down before him, and leave his passage polled.
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Second Servingman:
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And he's as like to do't as any man I can imagine.
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Third Servingman:
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Do't! he will do't; for, look you, sir, he has as
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many friends as enemies; which friends, sir, as it
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were, durst not, look you, sir, show themselves, as
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we term it, his friends whilst he's in directitude.
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First Servingman:
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Directitude! what's that?
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Third Servingman:
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But when they shall see, sir, his crest up again,
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and the man in blood, they will out of their
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burrows, like conies after rain, and revel all with
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him.
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First Servingman:
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But when goes this forward?
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Third Servingman:
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