Elder Lo.  You cannot talk me out with your tradition
Of wit you pick from Plays, go to, I have found ye: 
And for you, Sir, whose tender gentle blood
Runs in your Nose, and makes you snuff at all,
But three pil’d people, I do let you know,
He that begot your worships Sattin-sute,
Can make no men Sir:  I will see this Lady,
And with the reverence of your silkenship,
In these old Ornaments.

Wel.  You will not sure?

Elder Lo.  Sure Sir I shall.

Abig.  You would be beaten out?

Elder Lo.  Indeed I would not, or if I would be beaten, Pray who shall beat me? this good Gentleman Looks as if he were o’th’ peace.

Wel.  Sir you shall see that:  will you get you out?

Elder Lo.  Yes, that, that shall correct your boys tongue.  Dare you fight, I will stay here still. [They draw.

Abig.  O their things are out, help, help for Gods sake, Madam; Jesus they foin at one another.

Enter Lady.

Madam, why, who is within there?

Lady.  Who breeds this rudeness?

Wel. This uncivil fellow; He saies he comes from Sea, where I believe, H’as purg’d away his manners.

Lady. Why what of him?

Wel. Why he will rudely without once God bless you,
Press to your privacies, and no denial
Must stand betwixt your person and his business;
I let go his ill Language.

Lady. Sir, have you business with me?

Elder Lo. Madam some I have,
But not so serious to pawn my life for’t: 
If you keep this quarter, and maintain about you
Such Knights o’th’ Sun as this is, to defie
Men of imployment to ye, you may live,
But in what fame?

Lady. Pray stay Sir, who has wrong’d you?

Elder Lo. Wrong me he cannot, though uncivilly
He flung his wild words at me:  but to you
I think he did no honour, to deny
The hast I come withal, a passage to you,
Though I seem course.

Lady. Excuse me gentle Sir, ’twas from my knowledge,
And shall have no protection.  And to you Sir,
You have shew’d more heat than wit, and from your self
Have borrowed power, I never gave you here,
To do these vile unmanly things:  my house
Is no blind street to swagger in; and my favours
Not doting yet on your unknown deserts
So far, that I should make you Master of my business;
My credit yet stands fairer with the people
Than to be tried with swords; and they that come
To do me service, must not think to win me
With hazard of a murther; if your love
Consist in fury, carry it to the Camp: 
And there in honour of some common Mistress,
Shorten your youth, I pray be better temper’d: 
And give me leave a while Sir.

Wel. You must have it. [Exit Welford.