[Henry feels a fresh pang of affection for Maketh and Dorian, these two unanticipated friends of his. He won't give them up, even if they are besting him.]

Be this the field upon which I perish?

[Which serves as confirmation of his loss. He pours himself two shots and drinks them down in succession, before he makes a disgusted noise. Mostly at his own exceptional drunkenness, in a fleeting moment of acute awareness.]

I [he tells them both, apparently still concerned by their love life revelations] will defend your honour as though it were my own. Even should you repeat your follies.