_Sir Geff_. Retort not so abstrusly.--Will you disdain The good of honour, condiscend to me And youthfull write me, lady, in your stile, And to each thread of thy sun-daseling h[air] Ile hang a pearle as orient as the gemmes The eastern Queenes doe boast of. When thou walk[st], The country lasses, crownd with gorgeous flo[w]res, Shall fill each path and dance their rural jigs In honour of this bewty. _Cla_. Hey day, where did you borrow this? Sir, youle beg[one]: I feele the fitt a coming; I shall rayle instantly. _Crac_. Baffeld before my Mrs? Death to fame! Captaine, good Captaine. _Suc_. Pish, I doe but drill her For you, friend; you shall have her, say your Captaine Sayes it, whose words doe ventilate destruction To all who do oppugn what they designe. _Sir Gef_. Come, you shall love me. _Cla_. I cannot choose: goe, get you home, antiquity; thinke [of] heaven, say thy prayers often for thy old sinns and let [thy] maid diett thee with warme broathes least some cold appoplexis sease thee before thou art prepard. _Sir Gef_. Madam! madam! shees in her old fitt! _Cla_. Call her, I care not if she heare me, I councell better than your physician: every night drinke a good cup of muscadine,[113]--you will not have moysture left to ingender spitle to cleanse thy mouth ith morning. Goe, set thy feath[er] right, good mooncalfe[114]: you have your answeare. _Sir Gef_, Contemne an old man and his feather, _Bunch_, Ile begon, _B[unch]_. [_Exeunt Sir Gef. and Bunch_. _Cla_. Will you goe?--Sister, I have shakd mine off. What stayes this nifle[115] for? _Crac_. Nay, call me what you will, she is my prise, And I will keepe her.--Captaine, to her Captaine. _Suc_. You must not part thus, Mrs; here are men Has scapd-- _Cla_. The Gallowes. _Suc_. Ile rigg you up; although you were a Carack I shall find tackling for you. _Bel_. You are uncivill; pray, desist. _Crac_. Not kisse a gentleman? a pretty ring this same: I have a mind to it and I must have it. _Bel_. You will not robb me of it? _Suc_. I will intreate this glove which shall adorne In fight my burgonett. _Cla_. Some honest hostesse Ere this has made a chamber pot of it. _Crac_. It is some rivalls ring and I will have it To weare in spight of him. _Bel_. Helpe, Sister, helpe. _Enter Bonvill and Grimes_. _Bon_. She shall not neede. It is my ring the villaine desires soe importunatly: what untuterd slave art thou that darst inforce aught from this gentlewoman. _Crac_. Whats that to you? you might have come before me. _Bel_. What would you have don? _Crac_. Entreated you againe to have come behind me. _Bel_. O, my _Bonvill_, so happy a benefit no hand but thine could have administred. Thou save[d]st the Jewell I esteeme next to my honour,--the Ring thou gavest me. _Crac_. Nay, if you have more right to her than I, takt I pray you:-- would I were off with a faire broken pate. _Suc_. Is your life hatefull to you?