SHARP. 'Tis a tawdry outside.

BELL. And a very beggarly lining--yet he may be worth your
acquaintance; a little of thy chymistry, Tom, may extract gold from
that dirt.

SHARP. Say you so? 'Faith I am as poor as a chymist, and would be
as industrious. But what was he that followed him? Is not he a
dragon that watches those golden pippins?

BELL. Hang him, no, he a dragon! If he be, 'tis a very peaceful
one. I can ensure his anger dormant; or should he seem to rouse,
'tis but well lashing him, and he will sleep like a top.

SHARP. Ay, is he of that kidney?

BELL. Yet is adored by that bigot, Sir Joseph Wittoll, as the
image of valour. He calls him his back, and indeed they are never
asunder--yet, last night, I know not by what mischance, the knight
was alone, and had fallen into the hands of some night-walkers,
who, I suppose, would have pillaged him. But I chanced to come by
and rescued him, though I believe he was heartily frightened; for
as soon as ever he was loose, he ran away without staying to see
who had helped him.

SHARP. Is that bully of his in the army?

BELL. No; but is a pretender, and wears the habit of a soldier,
which nowadays as often cloaks cowardice, as a black gown does
atheism. You must know he has been abroad--went purely to run away