Sir Joseph, Bluffe.

BLUFF.  Very well—very fine—but ’tis no matter.  Is not this fine, Sir Joseph?

SIR JO.  Indifferent, agad, in my opinion, very indifferent.  I’d rather go plain all my life than wear such finery.

BLUFF.  Death and hell to be affronted thus!  I’ll die before I’ll suffer it.  [Draws.]

SIR JO.  O Lord, his anger was not raised before.  Nay, dear Captain, don’t be in passion now he’s gone.  Put up, put up, dear Back, ’tis your Sir Joseph begs, come let me kiss thee; so, so, put up, put up.

BLUFF.  By heaven, ’tis not to be put up.

SIR JO.  What, Bully?

BLUFF.  The affront.

SIR JO.  No, aged, no more ’tis, for that’s put up all already; thy sword, I mean.

BLUFF.  Well, Sir Joseph, at your entreaty—But were not you, my friend, abused, and cuffed, and kicked?  [Putting up his sword.]

SIR JO.  Ay, ay, so were you too; no matter, ’tis past.

BLUFF.  By the immortal thunder of great guns, ’tis false—he sucks not vital air who dares affirm it to this face.  [Looks big.]

SIR JO.  To that face I grant you, Captain.  No, no, I grant you—not to that face, by the Lord Harry.  If you had put on your fighting face before, you had done his business—he durst as soon have kissed you, as kicked you to your face.  But a man can no more help what’s done behind his back than what’s said—Come, we’ll think no more of what’s past.

BLUFF.  I’ll call a council of war within to consider of my revenge to come.