Wel.  What are you?  And what business have you here?

Elder Lo.  More I believe than you have.

Abig.  Who would this fellow speak with?  Art thou sober?

Elder Lo.  Yes, I come not here to sleep.

Wel.  Prethee what art thou?

Elder Lo.  As much (gay man) as thou art, I am a Gentleman.

Wel.  Art thou no more?

Elder Lo.  Yes more than thou dar’st be; a Souldier.

Abig.  Thou dost not come to quarrel?

Elder Lo.  No, not with women; I come to speak here with a Gentlewoman.

Abig.  Why, I am one.

Elder Lo.  But not with one so gentle.

Wel.  This is a fine fellow.

Elder Lo.  Sir, I am not fine yet.  I am but new come over, direct me with your ticket to your Taylor, and then I shall be fine Sir.  Lady if there be a better of your Sex within this house, say I would see her.

Abig.  Why am not I good enough for you Sir?

Elder Lo.  Your way you’l be too good, pray end my business.  This is another Sutor, O frail Woman!

Wel.  This fellow with his bluntness hopes to do more than the long sutes of a thousand could; though he be sowre he’s quick, I must not trust him.  Sir, this Lady is not to speak with you, she is more serious:  you smell as if you were new calkt; go and be hansome, and then you may sit with her Servingmen.

El.  Lo.  What are you Sir?

Wel.  Guess by my outside.

Elder Lo.  Then I take you Sir, for some new silken thing wean’d from the Country, that shall (when you come to keep good company) be beaten into better manners.  Pray good proud Gentlewoman, help me to your Mistress.

Abig.  How many lives hast thou, that thou talk’st thus rudely?

Elder Lo.  But one, one, I am neither Cat nor Woman.

Wel.  And will that one life, Sir, maintain you ever in such bold sawciness?

Elder Lo.  Yes, amongst a Nation of such men as you are, and be no worse for wearing, shall I speak with this Lady?

Abig.  No by my troth shall you not.

Elder Lo.  I must stay here then?

Wel.  That you shall not neither.

Elder Lo.  Good fine thing tell me why?

Wel.  Good angry thing I’le tell you: 
This is no place for such companions,
Such lousie Gentlemen shall find their business
Better i’th’ Suburbs, there your strong pitch perfume,
Mingled with lees of Ale, shall reek in fashion: 
This is no Thames-street, Sir.

Abig.  This Gentleman informs you truly: 
Prethee be satisfied, and seek the Suburbs,
Good Captain, or what ever title else,
The Warlike Eele-boats have bestowed upon thee,
Go and reform thy self, prethee be sweeter,
And know my Lady speaks with no Swabbers.