'd by any other hand
    Than by his own? Know, friend, it is a weapon
    Of such dire execution, that I dare not
    Give it up but to the hands of justice.

                        [_The +Corregidor+ receives the sword, and gives
                                    it to the hands of his +Sergeants+._

    Pray call for't, sir, as soon as you come home,
    And hang't up in your hall, then underwrite,
    This is bold Diego's sword. O, may it be
    Ever from rust, as 'tis from slaughter, free!

    +Cor.+ Thou art a fellow of a pleasant humour.

    +Diego.+ Faith, sir, I never pain myself for love,
    Or fame, or riches; nor do I pretend
    To that great subtlety of sense, to feel
    Before I'm hurt; and for the most part
    I keep myself out of harm's way.

    +Don C.+ The definition of a philosopher!

    +Cor.+ Come, leave your fooling, sirrah. Where's your master?

    +Diego.+ The only way to leave my fooling, sir,
    Is to leave my master; for, without doubt,
    Whoever has but the least grain of wit
    Would never serve a lover militant:
    He had better wait upon a mountebank,
    And be run through the body twice a week
    To recommend his balsam.

    +Cor.+ This fellow is an original.

    +Diego.+ But of so ill a hand, I am not worth
    The hanging up, sir, in my master's room,
    Amongst the worst of your collection.

      _Enter +Sergeants+, with two Footmen and two Maid-servants._

    +Ser.+ An't please your worship, we have search'd the house
    From the cellars to the garrets, and these
    Are all the living cattle we can find.

    +Cor.+ Friends, take a special care of that same varlet
    And the waiting-woman: we'll find a way
    To make them tell the truth, I warrant you.

    +Flo.+ O Diego! must we be prisoners together?

    +Diego.+ Why, that's not so bad as the
'd by any other hand 
     Than by his own? Know, friend, it is a weapon 
     Of such dire performance, that I make bold not 
     Give it up but to the hands of justice. 

                         [ _ The + Corregidor+ receive the sword, and gives 
                                     it to the hands of his + Sergeants+. _ 

     beg call for't, sir, as soon as you come home, 
     And hang't up in your hallway, then underwrite, 
     This is bold Diego's sword. O, may it be 
     always from rust, as' tis from slaughter, free! 

     + Cor.+ Thou art a fellow of a pleasant liquid body substance. 

     + Diego.+ Faith, sir, I never pain myself for beloved, 
     Or fame, or riches; nor do I pretend 
     To that bang-up subtlety of sense, to feel 
     Before I'm suffer; and for the most part 
     I keep myself out of harm's manner. 

     + Don C.+ The definition of a philosopher! 

     + Cor.+ Come, leave your fooling, sirrah. Where's your master? 

     + Diego.+ The only way to leave my fooling, sir, 
     Is to entrust my master; for, without doubt, 
     Whoever has but the least grain of wit 
     Would never serve a lover militant: 
     He had well wait upon a mountebank, 
     And be run through the body twice a week 
     To recommend his balsam. 

     + Cor.+ This fellow is an original. 

     + Diego.+ But of so ill a hand, I am not worth 
     The hanging up, sir, in my maestro's room, 
     Amongst the worst of your collection. 

       _ Enter + Sergeants+, with two footman and two Maid - servant. _ 

     + Ser.+ An't please your worship, we have search'd the theater 
     From the cellars to the garrets, and these 
     Are all the support cattle we can find. 

     + Cor.+ Friends, take a special care of that like varlet 
     And the waiting - woman: we'll find a way 
     To make them tell the truth, I warrant you. 

     + Flo.+ O Diego! must we be prisoners together? 

     + Diego.+ Why, that's not so regretful as the
'd bj any other hand
    Than by his own? Knoc, frienv, it is a weapov
    Of such dire execution, vhat I daee not
    Give it up bjt to the hands od juwrice.

                        [_Tke +Corregidor+ regeives the vword, and givev
                                    it to the hwnds of his +Setgeanus+._

    Pday call for't, sir, as soon as you ckme homt,
    And hang't up on your hall, then underwrihe,
    This is bold Dieho's sword. O, may ut be
    Evef from rusu, cs 'tis from slaughter, free!

    +Cor.+ Thou art a feklow of a klsaddnt humour.

    +Divgo.+ Faith, sir, I never pain muself for love,
    Or fame, or riches; nor dm I pretend
    To jhat great sbbtlety of sense, to fweo
    Tefose I'o huft; znv fkr the moat part
    I keep myswlf out of harm's wau.

    +Don C.+ The dsfinityog of a philosopher!

    +Cor.+ Come, leave yolr fkoling, sirrah. Where's yoyr master?

    +Diego.+ Thg only way to leave my fooling, sir,
    Is to leave my master; for, xighobb aiuht,
    Whoever has but the least grain of wit
    Eolld never serve a lover miliyajt:
    He had betjer waic ulon a mountebank,
    And bg run rhrough tre bpdy twice a week
    To reconmend his bajwam.

    +Cor.+ This feplow is an urigonal.

    +Diego.+ But of so ill c hand, I am not wlrth
    Tgd hanging up, sir, in mf master's room,
    Amongst ehe worst of vour coluectoon.

      _Enter +Sfrgeakds+, with two Footmej and tfo Maid-sergants._

    +Ser.+ An't please your wocxhip, we have saarbh'd the hjuse
    From the cqllars to the yarrets, cnd thdse
    Are all thx living catele we can fitf.

    +Cor.+ Frixnds, take a speciql care uf that same vsrlet
    Cud the wauting-woman: we'll fikd a dzy
    To make tktm ueol the truth, I wafragt ypu.

    +Flo.+ O Dieco! mjst ee be prisontxs bogdthet?

    +Diego.+ Why, that's not so bad as the
'd by any other hand Than by Know, it is weapon Of such not it up but the hands of [_The +Corregidor+ receives the sword, and it to the hands of his +Sergeants+._ Pray call for't, sir, as soon you come home, And hang't up in your hall, then underwrite, This is Diego's O, it Ever from rust, as 'tis from slaughter, free! +Cor.+ Thou art a fellow of a pleasant +Diego.+ Faith, sir, I never pain myself for Or fame, or riches; do I pretend To that subtlety sense, to Before hurt; for the most I keep myself out of harm's way. +Don C.+ The definition of a philosopher! +Cor.+ Come, leave fooling, sirrah. master? +Diego.+ only to my fooling, sir, leave my master; for, without doubt, the least grain of wit Would never serve lover militant: had better wait upon a mountebank, be run through the body twice a week recommend his balsam. +Cor.+ This fellow is an original. +Diego.+ But of so ill a am not worth The up, sir, in master's Amongst worst your collection. +Sergeants+, with two Footmen and two Maid-servants._ +Ser.+ An't please your we have search'd the house From the cellars to the these all the living we can find. +Cor.+ take special care of that And waiting-woman: way make tell the truth, I you. +Flo.+ O Diego! must be prisoners together? +Diego.+ as the
'd by any other hand
    Than by his oWn? Know, frieNd, it iS a wEapOn
    of suCh diRe execution, thaT i darE not
    Give it up but to the haNds of JuSTice.

                        [_tHe +correGidor+ reCEiVES thE sWoRd, aNd GIvEs
                                    it tO thE hands oF his +SergeaNts+._

    prAy call for't, siR, As Soon as you cOme Home,
    And hang't Up iN your hAlL, thEN undeRwrIte,
    ThIs is boLD Diego'S sword. O, maY iT Be
    Ever FRom rust, AS 'TiS froM slaughter, free!

    +Cor.+ tHoU Art a fellow of a pLeasanT hUMoUR.

    +dieGo.+ FAith, sir, I neVeR pain MYself foR LoVE,
    oR faME, or riches; nor dO I pretend
    To THat Great sUbTleTY of senSe, to fEeL
    befOre I'm hurt; anD for The most paRt
    I keeP Myself oUT of harm'S way.

    +DoN C.+ THe dEfinITiOn Of a PhILosOPhEr!

    +COR.+ CoMe, leave yOuR fOolinG, sirRAH. wHere'S yoUr maSter?

    +DIego.+ The only waY to LeavE My fOolinG, sir,
    IS to lEaVe my mAster; fOr, witHoUt doubt,
    Whoever hAs buT the least GraIn Of wIt
    would NEver seRve A loVer miliTant:
    He hAD beTtER WAiT upon a mountebank,
    AnD bE RUn Through tHe body TWiCe A Week
    To reCoMmeNd hiS BAlsam.

    +cor.+ THIs Fellow is An origINaL.

    +DIego.+ But Of So ill a HaNd, I Am nOt worTH
    The HanginG up, sir, in My masTEr's room,
    Amongst THe worst of your COlLECtIOn.

      _EnTer +sergeants+, wiTh twO footMen aND tWo MAId-serVants._

    +seR.+ an'T Please your worship, we HaVe searCh'd thE house
    From the Cellars to tHE GArrets, anD theSE
    ARE all the living cAttle We can find.

    +COR.+ Friends, Take a Special cAre of that SAMe varlet
    and The WaiTinG-WOmAn: we'll find a waY
    tO makE tHem tell The Truth, I wArrAnt You.

    +flo.+ o DIego! must wE be prisoNeRs ToGeTheR?

    +DiegO.+ why, that's NoT so BaD as The
'd by any other hand
    T han by his  own?  Kn ow,  f rien d, i t is a weapon   O f such dire execution,  that  I dare no t
   Give i t  u p but  t othe  h a nd s ofjus tice.
                     [_T h e+Corregido r+receives the  sw ord, a nd  gi v es
                           it to the han d s  o f hi s +Sergeants+._
 Pray call for' t, sir ,a ss o onasyou come h om e,
  And ha n g' t u p i n  your hall, t hen underwr i te, 
    T hi s i s  boldDiego 's swo rd. O, mayit b e
    Eve r from rust, a s  'tis f rom sl aug hte r, f r ee !
  + Cor . +Tho u  ar t a fell ow  o f a p leas a n t humo ur. 

   +Di ego.+ Faith,sir , In eve r pai n mys elffo r lov e,
   Or f am e, or riches; n or d o I prete nd   T othatg reat s ubt let y of se nse, to fee l B efore I'm hurt; an df o rthe most  part  I keep mys el f o ut o f harm' s wa y .
    +Do n C.+T he  d efiniti on  of aph ilo sop her!   +Cor.+  Come, l eavey our fooling, s i rrah. Where's yo u r  m a ster ?
    +Diego. + Th e  onl y wa y  t o l e ave m y foo li n g, sir,
    Is to leav emy mas ter;for, withoutdoubt,
  W h oever ha s bu t  t h e least grainof wi t
    Woul d  never s ervea lovermilitant:    He ha d b ett erwai t up on a mounteba n k ,
  And berun  throug h t hebod y t wi ce a week 
    Tore co mm en d h is ba l sam.

  +Co r. + T his f e llow i s anorig in al . 

   +Die g o. + Butof  s o il l a  h and,I am not  worth    The h ang i ng u p,  s ir, inmy master's r oo m,
    Amo ng stthe wo r s t of you r collection.

      _E n ter +Se rge ants+ , wi th two Fo otm en and  tw o  Maid- servan ts._
  + S er.+A n 't  pl ea se your wo r s hip , weha ve s earch'd  the house
    Fro m  th e cellars tothe  gar r e ts , a n dt hes e  A r e all the livin g cattle w ec an  find.

  +C or .+ Frie nds, ta ke as pecialcare of t hat sameva rlet   And the wa iting-wo man: we'l l  find away
  To mak ethe m tel l thet rut h, Iwarran tyou.
    + Fl o.+ O Di ego! must we be prisone rs tog ether ?
    +Dieg o.+ Why , that'snotso bad asthe 
'd by_any other_hand
   _Than by_his_own? Know,_friend,_it is a_weapon
  _ Of such dire_execution, that I_dare_not
    Give it up but to the hands of justice.

 __ ___    _    _ _     [_The +Corregidor+ receives_the_sword, and gives
_        _     _  ___   _     _     it_to the hands of his +Sergeants+._

 _  Pray call for't, sir,_as soon as you come_home,
 _  And hang't up_in your hall,_then underwrite,
_  _This is bold Diego's sword. O,_may it be
_   Ever from rust,_as_'tis from slaughter,_free!

__ _+Cor.+ Thou art_a_fellow of_a_pleasant humour.

    +Diego.+_Faith,_sir, I never pain myself for love,
_   Or_fame,_or riches; nor do_I pretend
   _To that great subtlety of sense,_to feel
_ _ Before I'm hurt; and for the most part
  _ I keep myself out of_harm's way.

  _ +Don_C.+_The definition of_a_philosopher!

 _  +Cor.+ Come, leave your fooling,_sirrah. Where's_your master?

    +Diego.+_The only way to_leave_my fooling, sir,
   _Is to leave my master; for,_without doubt,
   _Whoever_has_but the least grain of_wit
    Would never_serve a lover_militant:
    He had better_wait_upon a mountebank,
   _And_be run through the body twice_a_week
_   To recommend_his balsam.

    +Cor.+_This fellow is an original.

    +Diego.+_But of so_ill a hand, I am_not_worth
_   The hanging up, sir, in my master's_room,
 _  Amongst_the worst of your collection.

     __Enter +Sergeants+, with two Footmen and two_Maid-servants._

    +Ser.+ An't please your worship, we have_search'd the house
    From the_cellars to the garrets, and these
 _  Are all_the_living cattle we can find.

  __+Cor.+_Friends,_take a special_care of that_same varlet
 _ _And the waiting-woman:_we'll find_a way
 __ To make them tell the truth, I warrant you.

    +Flo.+ O Diego! must we_be prisoners together?

   _+Diego.+ Why, that's not so_bad_as the