Both.  And we to renew our loves. Mir.  Bring me a blanket. 
What came they for? Ang.  To borrow me a while, Sir;
But one that never fought yet has so curried,
So bastina[d]o’d them with manly carriage,
They stand like things Gorgon had turn’d to stone;
They watch’d your being absent, and then thought
They might doe wonders here, and they have done so? 
For by my troth, I wonder at their coldness,
The nipping North or frost never came neere them,
St. George upon a Signe would grow more sensible: 
If the name of honour were for ever to be lost,
These were the most sufficient men to doe it
In all the world, and yet they are but young,
What will they rise to?  They’re as full of fire
As a frozen Glo-wormes ratle, and shine as goodly;
Nobilitie and patience are match’d rarely
In these three Gentlemen, they have right use on’t;
They’l stand still for an houre and be beaten. 
These are the Anagrammes of three great Worthies.

Mir.  They will infect my house with cowardize,
If they breathe longer in it; my roofe covers
No baffl’d Monsieurs, walk and aire your selves;
As I live, they stay not here, while liver’d wretches
Without one word to ask a reason why,
Vanish, ’tis the last warning, and with speed,
For if I take ye in hand I shall dissect you,
And read upon your flegmatick dull carcases. 
My horse againe there:  I have other business,
Which you shall heare hereafter and laugh at it. 
Good night Charles, faire goodness to you dear Ladie
Tis late, ’tis late. Ang. Pray Sir be careful of us.

Mir. It is enough, my best care shall attend ye. Exeunt.

Actus IV.  Scaena IV.

      Enter Andrew.

Are you come old Master? very good, your horse
Is well set up, but ere ye part, Ile ride you
And spur your reverend Justiceship such a question,
As I shall make the sides of your reputation bleed,
Trulie I will.  Now must I play at Bo-peep—­
A banquet—­well, Potatoes and Eringoes,
And as I take it, Cantharides,—­Excellent,
A Priapisme followes, and as Ile handle it,
It shall old lecherous Goat in authoritie. 
Now they begin to bill; how he slavers her!
[G]ramercie Lilly, she spits his kisses out,
And now he offers to fumble she fals off,
(That’s a good Wench) and cries fair play above boord
Who are they in the corner?  As I live,
A covey of Fidlers; I shall have some musick yet
At my making free oth’ Companie of Horners;
There’s the comfort, and a Song too!  He beckons for one—­
Sure ’tis no Anthem nor no borrowed rhymes
Out of the Schoole of vertue; I will listen—­ A Song.
This was never penn’d at Geneva, the note’s too spritely. 
So, so, the musicke’s paid for, and now what followes?