Here comes the Briton. Let him be so entertained amongst you as suits with gentlemen of your knowing to a stranger of his quality. I beseech you all be better known to this gentleman, whom I commend to you as a noble friend of mine. How worthy he is I will leave to appear hereafter, rather than story him in his own hearing.
FRENCHMAN.
Sir, we have known together in Orleans.
POSTHUMUS.
Since when I have been debtor to you for courtesies, which I will be ever to pay and yet pay still.
FRENCHMAN.
Sir, you o’errate my poor kindness. I was glad I did atone my countryman and you; it had been pity you should have been put together with so mortal a purpose as then each bore, upon importance of so slight and trivial a nature.
POSTHUMUS.
By your pardon, sir. I was then a young traveller; rather shunn’d to go even with what I heard than in my every action to be guided by others’ experiences; but upon my mended judgement (if I offend not to say it is mended) my quarrel was not altogether slight.
FRENCHMAN.
Faith, yes, to be put to the arbitrement of swords, and by such two that would by all likelihood have confounded one the other or have fall’n both.
IACHIMO.
Can we, with manners, ask what was the difference?
FRENCHMAN.
Safely, I think. ’Twas a contention in public, which may, without contradiction, suffer the report. It was much like an argument that fell out last night, where each of us fell in praise of our country mistresses; this gentleman at that time vouching (and upon warrant of bloody affirmation) his to be more fair, virtuous, wise, chaste, constant, qualified, and less attemptable, than any the rarest of our ladies in France.
IACHIMO.
That lady is not now living, or this gentleman’s opinion, by this, worn out.
POSTHUMUS.
She holds her virtue still, and I my mind.