STILL Beatrice smiled, and still Marian fretted; and whilst Robin and George were preparing for the combat, for Robin was willing to give him liberty to breathe, Marian stepped to Beatrice, and called her, Proud minx, and bid her now turn her laughter into tears, for she had a companion coming, who would not only revenge his friends, that were disgraced, but beat, baffle, and disarm her lubberly* sweet-heart. Beatrice, who was of an high spirit, and the more emboldened by the present valour of her George, came up close to her, and told her again, “thou shalt find as much difference betwixt my champion and thine in manhood, as betwixt the true and natural colour in my cheeks, and thy painted and plastered beauty, daubed upon in wearing.” These words were enough to begin new wars, and they were going together by the ears at the instant, and much ado had the friar and the rest (now recovered) to keep them asunder.