the combat? What mean you? you will lose
your reputation. 708
Arm. Gentlemen and soldiers, pardon me; I
will not combat in my shirt.
Dum. You may not deny it; Pompey hath
made the challenge. 712
Arm. Sweet bloods, I both may and will.
Ber. What reason have you for 't?
Arm. The naked truth of it is, I have no
shirt. I go woolward for penance. 716
Boyet. True, and it was enjoined him in Rome
for want of linen; since when, I'll be sworn, he
wore none but a dish-clout of Jaquenetta's, and
that a' wears next his heart for a favour. 720
Enter a Messenger, Monsieur Marcade.
Mar. God save you, madam!
Prin. Welcome, Marcade;
But that thou interrupt'st our merriment.
Mar. I am sorry, madam; for the news I bring 724
Is heavy in my tongue. The king your father—
Prin. Dead, for my life!
Mar. Even so: my tale is told.
Ber. Worthies, away! The scene begins to 728
cloud.
Arm. For mine own part, I breathe free breath.
I have seen the day of wrong through the little
hole of discretion, and I will right myself like a 732
soldier. Exeunt Worthies.
King. How fares your majesty?
Prin. Boyet, prepare: I will away to-night.
King. Madam, not so: I do beseech you, stay. 736
Prin. Prepare, I say. I thank you, gracious lords,
716 woolward: i.e. with wool, instead of linen, next to the skin
732 hole of discretion; cf. n.
