Cla.  Hey day, where did you borrow this?  Sir, youle beg[one]:  I feele the fitt a coming; I shall rayle instantly.

Crac.  Baffeld before my Mrs?  Death to fame!  Captaine, good Captaine.

Suc.  Pish, I doe but drill her For you, friend; you shall have her, say your Captaine Sayes it, whose words doe ventilate destruction To all who do oppugn what they designe.

Sir Gef.  Come, you shall love me.

Cla.  I cannot choose:  goe, get you home, antiquity; thinke [of] heaven, say thy prayers often for thy old sinns and let [thy] maid diett thee with warme broathes least some cold appoplexis sease thee before thou art prepard.

Sir Gef.  Madam! madam! shees in her old fitt!

Cla.  Call her, I care not if she heare me, I councell better than your physician:  every night drinke a good cup of muscadine,[113]—­you will not have moysture left to ingender spitle to cleanse thy mouth ith morning.  Goe, set thy feath[er] right, good mooncalfe[114]:  you have your answeare.

Sir Gef, Contemne an old man and his feather, Bunch, Ile begon, B[unch].

[Exeunt Sir Gef. and Bunch.

Cla.  Will you goe?—­Sister, I have shakd mine off.  What stayes this nifle[115] for?

Crac.  Nay, call me what you will, she is my prise, And I will keepe her.—­Captaine, to her Captaine.

Suc.  You must not part thus, Mrs; here are men Has scapd—­

Cla.  The Gallowes.

Suc.  Ile rigg you up; although you were a Carack I shall find tackling for you.

Bel.  You are uncivill; pray, desist.

Crac.  Not kisse a gentleman? a pretty ring this same:  I have a mind to it and I must have it.

Bel.  You will not robb me of it?

Suc.  I will intreate this glove which shall adorne In fight my burgonett.

Cla.  Some honest hostesse Ere this has made a chamber pot of it.

Crac.  It is some rivalls ring and I will have it To weare in spight of him.

Bel.  Helpe, Sister, helpe.

    Enter Bonvill and Grimes.

Bon.  She shall not neede.  It is my ring the villaine desires soe importunatly:  what untuterd slave art thou that darst inforce aught from this gentlewoman.

Crac.  Whats that to you? you might have come before me.

Bel.  What would you have don?

Crac.  Entreated you againe to have come behind me.

Bel.  O, my Bonvill, so happy a benefit no hand but thine could have administred.  Thou save[d]st the Jewell I esteeme next to my honour,—­the Ring thou gavest me.

Crac.  Nay, if you have more right to her than I, takt I pray you:—­ would I were off with a faire broken pate.

Suc.  Is your life hatefull to you?