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Val. In troth, I think she would. Fare you

well then. Come, good sweet lady. Prithee,

Virgilia, turn thy solemness out o' door, and go

along with us.

Vir. No, at a word, madam; indeed I must

not. I wish you much mirth.

Val. Well then, farewell.

Mar. Yonder comes news: a wager they have met.

Lart. My horse to yours, no.

Mar. 'Tis done.

Lart. Agreed.

Mar. Say, has our general met the enemy?

Mess. They lie in view, but have not spoke as yet.

Lart. So the good horse is mine.

Mar. I'll buy him of you.

Lart. No, I'll nor sell nor give him; lend you him I will

For half a hundred years. Summon the town.

Mar. How far off lie these armies?

Mess. Within this mile and half.

Mar. Then shall we hear their 'larum, and they ours.

Now, Mars, I prithee, make us quick in work,

That we with smoking swords may march from hence,

To help our fielded friends! Come, blow thy blast.

 120 turn door: banish gravity

122 at a word: positively  4 spoke: euphemism for 'fought'

12 fielded: engaged on the battlefield

