CAPT. FACE. Zounds! stay the dressing! you damned rogue, What, shall I wait upon your greasy cook, And wait his leisure? go down stairs, rogue; Now all her other customers be serv'd, Ask, if your mistress have a snip of mutton Yet left for me. DRAWER. Yes, sir. CAPT. FACE. And, good-man rogue, See what good thing your kitchen-maid has left For me to work upon; my barrow-guttlings grumble And would have food: [_Exit Drawer._] Say now, the vintner's wife Should bring me up a pheasant, partridge, quail; A pleasant banquet, and extremely love me, Desire me to eat, kiss, and protest, I should pay nothing for it; say she should drink Herself three-quarters drunk to win my love, Then give me a chain worth some three score pounds; Say 'twere worth but forty--say, but twenty, For citizens do seldom in their wooing Give above twenty pounds--say then, 'tis twenty, I'll go sell some fifteen pounds' worth of the chain To buy some clothes, and shift my lousy linen. And wear the rest as a perpetual favour About my arm in fashion of a bracelet. Say then her husband should grow jealous, I'd make him drunk, and then I'll cuckold him. But then a vintner's wife, some rogue will say, Which sits at bar for the receipt of custom, That smells of chippings and of broken fish, Is love to Captain Face; which to prevent, I'll never come but when her best-stitch'd hat, Her bugle-gown, and best-wrought smock is on; Then does she neither smell of bread, of meat, Or droppings of the tap; it shall be so. _Enter_ BOUTCHER, WILLIAM SMALL-SHANKS, _and_ CONSTANTIA. BOUT. Now leave us, boy; bless you, Captain Face. CAPT. FACE. I'll have no music[416]. W. SMALL. Foot, dost take us for fiddlers? CAPT. FACE. Then turn straight. Drawer, run down the stairs, And thank the gods a gave me that great patience Not to strike you. BOUT. Your patience, sir, is great: For you dare seldom strike. Sirrah, they say, You needs will wed the widow Taffata, _Nolens volens?_ CAPT. FACE. Do not urge my patience, Awake not fury new-rak'd up in embers! I give you leave to live. W. SMALL. Men say y'have tricks, Y'are an admirable ape, and you can do More feats than three baboons: we must have some. CAPT. FACE. My patience yet is great; I say, begone, My tricks are dangerous. BOUT. That's nothing, I have brought you furniture. Come, get up Upon this table: do your feats, Or I will whip you to them; do not I know You are a lousy knave? CAPT. FACE. How! lousy knave; Are we not English bred? BOUT. Y'are a coward rogue, That dares not look a kitling in the face, If she but stare or mew.