SCENE VII
Retire, we have engaged ourselves too far:
Caesar himself has work, and our oppression
Exceeds what we expected.
O my brave emperor, this is fought indeed!
Had we done so at first, we had droven them home
With clouts about their heads.
Thou bleed’st apace.
I had a wound here that was like a T,
But now ’tis made an H.
They do retire.
We’ll beat ’em into bench-holes: I have yet
Room for six scotches more.
They are beaten, sir, and our advantage serves
For a fair victory.
Let us score their backs,
And snatch ’em up, as we take hares, behind:
’Tis sport to maul a runner.
I will reward thee
Once for thy spritely comfort, and ten-fold
For thy good valour. Come thee on.
I’ll halt after.
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