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Friends, by your leave, I somewhat must upon your goodness bear. Give me my helmet and my sword again:

Well, let us jostle with these ragged craft,

A soldier scorns to draw his honour'd blade On such mean foes: we'll beat them off with sticks.

Words will, perhaps, our better weapons prove, When us'd as brave men's arms should ever be, With skill and boldness. Swords smite single foes, But thousands by a word are struck at once.

O, hast thou heard it?

Yes, my love, they've told me.