_Accut_. A good states-man, for common-wealth of Brownists; the Rogue hates a Church like the Counter. _Gra_. I, and if my Ladie Argentile were dead, he wold rather live upon almes then fall to worke. _Accut_. So he might have tolleration.--What, shal's close with them? _Gra_. In any case, but in some mild imbrace, for if we should continue thus rough, we should be shunned like an Appoplex. _Accut_. Gallants, the fortune of the day runs with ye: what all at mumchance?[263] how is't? how is't? _Phy_. Sir, I think twas you bestowed some abuse of me tother day. _Accu_. Which I would wipe out of your memorie With satisfaction of a double courtesie. _Phy_. I accept it ifaith, sir, I am not prone to anger, I assure ye the following night knew not my anger. Your acquaintance, Signior. _Gra_. Fye, without ceremony lets yoake this triplicity as we did in the daies of olde, with mirth and melody. _Phy_. I, say you? so then _Coll_[264] _her and clip her and kisse her, too, &c_. _Bos_. The triplicitie! heere's those has supt at an ordinarie. _Accu_. This gallant humors. _Gra_. But the other walkes aloofe. _Bos_. The triplicite! heere's those has crackt glasses and drawn blood of a Tapster. _Gra_. The visitation of your hand, sir. _Bos_. The Triplicitie! will colours change? _Acut_. Sir, take no offence, I beseech ye, we gave onlye satisfaction for an olde injurie, but in the degree of amitie your selfe sits in the superlative. _Bos_. No sir, but in respect. _Gra_. What kinde is your Dogge of, sir? _Bos_. Verie kinde to anything but his meat, that hee devours with great alacritie. _Grac_. Where was he bred? _Bos_. In a Bitch. _Gra_. What Countrie? _Bos_. A kind of Mungrill, he will carrie but not fetch, marrie hee is to be put to a dauncing schoole for instruction. _Acut_. The tricke of the rope were excellent in him, & that ile teach him, if I misse not my mark. Come, Gallants, we waste time, the first Taverne we arrive at weel see the race of an houre-glasse. _Phy_. Can ye a part in a Song? _Gra_. Verie tollerably. _Phy_. Weele have a catch then, if with sol, sol, la: Gentlemen have you any good herbe? you have match, boy. _Boy_. Your pipe shall want no fire sir. _Acut_. Oh, without ceremony: now, _Graccus_, if we can but pawne their senses in Sack and Sugar, let mee alone to pursue the sequell. _Gra_. Follow it away. [_Exeunt_. [_Scene_ 3.] _Enter Hostis, Cittizens wife, Servulus, and Scillicet_. _Hostis_. Come, come, bring them out of the ayre: alas good hearts, what rogorous villaine would commit with him? ile tell ye Gosip, hee's eene as kinde an animall, he would not wrong them y'faith. _Citty wife_. Tush, feare nothing woman, I hope to make him so again. Alacke, alacke, how fell you out all a head?[265] Oh Butcher! are ye hurt in another place? _Hostis_. Did he not throw you against the stones? If he did, doe not conceale, I dare say you gave them not a foule word.