Phy.  I, say you? so then Coll[264] her and clip her and kisse her, too, &c.

Bos.  The triplicitie! heere’s those has supt at an ordinarie.

Accu.  This gallant humors.

Gra.  But the other walkes aloofe.

Bos.  The triplicite! heere’s those has crackt glasses and drawn blood of a Tapster.

Gra.  The visitation of your hand, sir.

Bos.  The Triplicitie! will colours change?

Acut.  Sir, take no offence, I beseech ye, we gave onlye satisfaction for an olde injurie, but in the degree of amitie your selfe sits in the superlative.

Bos.  No sir, but in respect.

Gra.  What kinde is your Dogge of, sir?

Bos.  Verie kinde to anything but his meat, that hee devours with great alacritie.

Grac.  Where was he bred?

Bos.  In a Bitch.

Gra.  What Countrie?

Bos.  A kind of Mungrill, he will carrie but not fetch, marrie hee is to be put to a dauncing schoole for instruction.

Acut.  The tricke of the rope were excellent in him, & that ile teach him, if I misse not my mark.  Come, Gallants, we waste time, the first Taverne we arrive at weel see the race of an houre-glasse.

Phy.  Can ye a part in a Song?

Gra.  Verie tollerably.

Phy.  Weele have a catch then, if with sol, sol, la:  Gentlemen have you any good herbe? you have match, boy.

Boy.  Your pipe shall want no fire sir.

Acut.  Oh, without ceremony:  now, Graccus, if we can but pawne their senses in Sack and Sugar, let mee alone to pursue the sequell.

Gra.  Follow it away.

[Exeunt.

[Scene 3.]

Enter Hostis, Cittizens wife, Servulus, and Scillicet.

Hostis.  Come, come, bring them out of the ayre:  alas good hearts, what rogorous villaine would commit with him? ile tell ye Gosip, hee’s eene as kinde an animall, he would not wrong them y’faith.

Citty wife.  Tush, feare nothing woman, I hope to make him so again.  Alacke, alacke, how fell you out all a head?[265] Oh Butcher! are ye hurt in another place?

Hostis.  Did he not throw you against the stones?  If he did, doe not conceale, I dare say you gave them not a foule word.

Scil.  By the illuminate welkin not a word till my mouth was full of blood, and so made my words foule.

Citty wife.  Is not this Gentleman hurt too?

Serv.  Onelye the extravagant Artire[266] of my arme is brused.

Cittie wi.  See, see, the extravagant of his arme is brused to.  Alas, how could ye quarrell so?

Serv.  I will demonstrate:  in the defence of the generous youth I did appugne my adverse, let violently flie.