Lea.

     Farm sir,
     You say most true.

     Lop.

Alonzo Tiveria!  Lord, Lord that time should play the treacherous knave thus!  Why, he was the only friend I had in Spain, sir, I knew your Mother too, a handsome Gentlewoman, She was married very young:  I married ’em:  I do remember now the Maskes and Sports then, The Fire-works, and the fine delights; good faith, sir, Now I look in your face, whose eyes are those, Diego?  Nay, if he be not just Alonzo’s picture—­

     Lea.

     Lord, how I blush for these two impudents!

     Die.

     Well Gentleman, I think your name’s Leandro.

     Lea.

     It is indeed, sir,
     Gra’-mercy letter, thou hadst never known else.

     Die.

     I have dandled ye, and kist ye and plaid with ye
     A hundred, and a hundred times, and danc’d ye,
     And swong ye in my Bell-ropes, ye lov’d swinging.

     Lop.

     A sweet Boy.

     Lea.

     Sweet lying knaves. 
     What would these doe for thousands?

     Lop.

     A wondrous sweet Boy then it was, see now
     Time that consumes us, shoots him up still sweeter. 
     How do’s the noble Gentleman? how fares he? 
     When shall we see him? when will he bless his Country?

     Lea.

     O, very shortly, Sir, till his return
     He has sent me over to your charge.

     Lop.

     And welcome,
     Nay, you shall know you are welcome to your friend, sir.

     Lea.

     And to my Study, Sir, which must be the Law. 
     To further which, he would entreat your care
     To plant me in the favour of some man
     That’s expert in that knowledge:  for his pains
     I have three hundred Duckets more:  For my Diet,
     Enough, Sir, to defray me:  which I am charged
     To take still, as I use it, from your custodie,
     I have the mony ready, and I am weary.

     Lop.

     Sit down, sit down, and once more ye are most welcome,
     The Law you have hit upon most happily,
     Here is a Master in that art, Bartolus,
     A neighbour by, to him I will prefer ye,
     A learned man, and my most loving neighbour,
     I’le doe ye faithful service, Sir.

     Die.

     He’s an Ass,
     And so wee’ll use him; he shall be a Lawyer.

     Lop.

     But if ever he recover this mony again—­before, Diego,
     And get some pretty pittance:  my Pupill’s hungry.

     Lea.

     Pray ye Sir, unlade me.

     Lop.