Suc.  What may it be imagind.

Crac.  Why, here are no Taverns where for my crowne I can have food provocative, besides the gaining of many precious phrase[s] for (from?) divers gallants new frenchefied.  Theirs nothing to excite desire but creame and eggs, and they are so common every clowne devoures them.  Were each egge at twelve pence, or as deare as lobsters, I could afford to eate them, but I hate all that is vulgar; ’tis most base.

Suc.  Pish, tis dificience in your resolution:  Suppose your mistress were an enemy You were to encounter in sterne duell.

Crac.  ’Tis well my Enemie is a woman; I should feare else to suppose the meeting.  Resolution! how can a man have resolution that drinkes nought but ale able to kill a Dutchman?  Conduit water is nector to it,

Suc.  Nay, but I say, suppose—­

Crac.  Suppose!  Why here are no wenches halfe so amorous as Citty tripennies[62]:  those that are bewtifull the dew is not so cold.  I did but begg a curtesie of a chambermaide, and she laughd at me!  Ile to the Citty againe, that’s certaine; where for my angell I can imbrace pl[enty].  If I stay here a little longer, for want of exercise I shall forget whether a woman be fish or flesh:  I have almost don’t already.

Suc.  O, heeres your uncle, move him; you conceive me; He must disburse.

Crac.  And ’tis as hard to wrest a penny from him as from a bawd.

    Enter Sir Gefferie and Bunche.

Sir Geff.  Erect that locke a little; theres a hayre
Which, like a foreman of a shop, does strive
To be above his fellowes.  Pish! this glasse
Is falsly silverd, maks me look as gray
As if I were 4 score.

Bun.  What does he want of it?

Sir Geff.  Combe with more circumspection, knave; these perfumes Have a dull odor; there is meale among them, My Mrs. will not scent them.

Crac.  Uncle, my friend,
My martiall fellow is deficient
In this ubiquitarie mettall, silver: 
You must impart.

Sir Geff.  This garter is not well tide, fellow:  where
Wert thou brought up? thou knowest not to tie
A rose yet, knave:  a little straiter:  so,
Now, tis indifferent.  Who can say that I
Am old now?

Bun.  Marry, that can I or any one which sees you.

Suc.  Death to my reputation!  Sir, we are gent[lemen] and deserve regard:  Will you not be responsible?

Sir Geff.  Alas, good Captaine, I was meditating how to salute my lady this morning.  You have bin a traviler:  had I best do it in the Italian garbe or with a Spanish gravity? your French mode is grown so common every vintners boy has it as perfect as his anon, anon, sir.  Hum, I must consider on it.

Crac.  Nay, but uncle, uncle, shall we have answeare concerning this mony, uncle?  You must disburse; that is the souldiers phrase.  You see this man; regard him.