+Amb.+ Ay, ay, away with them, away with them! +Mis. Coote.+ O this rogue Jarvis! [_Exeunt +Coote+ and +Shortheels+._ +Blood.+ Now, now, you look like a melancholy dog, that had lost his dinner; where's my hundred marks now, you coxcomb? +Tim.+ Truly, father, I have paid some sixteen reckonings since I saw you: I was never sober since you sent me to the devil yesterday; and for the rest of your money, I sent it to one Captain Carvegut. He swore to me his father was my Lord Mayor's cook, and that by Easter next you should have the principal and eggs for the use, indeed, sir. +Blood.+ O rogue, rogue! I shall have eggs for my money:[106] I must hang myself. +Sim.+ Not before dinner, pray, sir; the pies are almost baked. _Enter +Randall+._ +Ran.+ _And Maries now was won, And all her pusiness done, And Randalls now was run_; Hur have made all sure, I warrant hur. +Alex.+ Look, look, yonder's the conceit the mistake happened upon last night. +Anc.+ And the very box at's girdle. +Ran.+ Cot pless hur father Ploothounds, Randalls have robbed Ancients, hur warrant hur. +Anc.+ Sir, 'tis known how you came by that box. +Ran.+ Augh! was hur so? _Will you hear a noble Pritain, How her gull an English Flag?_[107] +Anc.+ And you ought to cry. +Ran.+ O noble Randalls, as hur meet by Nag's-head, with Maries plood, prave. +Blood.+ Here's another madman. +Anc.+ Harkee in your ear, you must deliver that box to me. +Ran.+ Harkee in hur t'other ear, hur will not deliver hur, and hur were nine-and-forty Ancients, and five-and-fourscore Flags. +Anc.+ Let my foe write mine epitaph if I tear not my birthright from thy bosom? [_Draws._ +Sim.+ Gentlemen, there's Aligant[108] i' th' house, pray set no more abroach. +Ran.+ Nay, let hur come with hur pack of needles, Randalls can pox and bob as well as hur, hur warrant hur. +Blood.+ What box is that? I should know that box. +Alex.+ I will resolve you, sir; keep them asunder. +Anc.+ You will restore that box? +Ran.+ Hur will not restore hur: 'twas Mary Ploodhounds gave hur the box; Randalls have married Mary Ploodhounds, and gulled Ancient, mark hur now. +Wid.+ Mark him, good sir; methinks he says he has married Mary Bloodhound. +Anc.+ Hang him, he's mad! +Ran.+ Souns, make tog of Randalls? come out here, Maries. Look, here was Mary Ploodhounds. _Enter +Maid+ and +Hugh+._ Now I pray tumble down of hur marrow-pones, and ask hur father plessing? +Alex.+ This! why this is your maid, widow. +Ear.+ This is Mary the widow's maid, man.