_Clor._ A short and pithy saying of a Souldier. _Fra._ A[s] I live Thou art a strange mad wench. _Clor._ To make a Parson. _Jac._ Ladyes I mean to kiss ye. _Clora._ How he wipes his mouth like a young Preacher; We shall have it. _Jac._ In order as you lye before me; first I'le begin with you. _Fra._ With me Sir? _Jac._ Yes. _Fra._ If you will promise me to kiss in ease, I care not if I venture. _Jac._ I will kiss according to mine own inventions As I shall see cause; sweetly I would wish you, I love ye. _Fra._ Do you Sir? _Jac._ Yes indeed do I, Would I could tell you how. _Fra._ I would you would Sir. _Jac._ I would to Heaven I could, but 'tis sufficient, I love you with my heart. _Fra._ Alas poor heart. _Jac._ And I am sorry; but we'l talk of that Hereafter, if it please Heaven. _Fra._ Ev'n when you will Sir. _Clor._ He's dismal drunk, would he were muzled. _Jac._ You I take it are the next. _Fra._ Go to him fool. _Clor._ Not I, he will bite me. _Jac._ When wit? when? _Clor._ Good Captain. _Jac._ Nay, and you play bo-peep; I'le ha' no mercy But catch as catch may. _Fred._ Nay, I'le not defend ye. _Clor._ Good Captain do not hurt me, I am sorry That e're I anger'd ye. _Jac._ I'le tew you for't By this hand wit, unless you kiss discreetly. _Clor._ No more Sir. _Jac._ Yes a little more sweet wit, One tast more o' your office: go thy wayes With thy small kettle Drums; upon my conscience Thou art the best, that e're man laid his leg o'er. _Clor._ He smells just like a Cellar, Fye upon him. _Jac._ Sweet Lady now to you. _Clor._ For loves sake kiss him. _Fred._ I shall not keep my countenance. _Fra._ Trye pre'thee. _Jac._ Pray be not coy sweet woman, for I'le kiss ye, I am blunt But you must pardon me. _Clor._ O God, my sides. _All._ Ha, ha, ha, ha. _Jac._ Why ha, ha, ha? why laugh? Why all this noise sweet Ladyes? _Clor._ Lusty _Laurence_, See what a Gentlewoman you have saluted; Pray God she prove not quick. _Fred._ Where were thine eyes To take me for a woman? ha, ha, ha. _Jac._ Who art 'a, art 'a mortal? _Fred._ I am _Frederick_. _Jac._ Then _Frederick_ is an Asse, A scurvy _Frederick_ to laugh at me. _Fra._ Sweet Captain. _Jac._ Away woman; Go stitch and serve, [God,] I despise thee woman, And _Frederick_ shall be beaten; 'Sfut ye Rogue Have you none else to make your puppies of, but me? _Fred._ I pre'thee be more patient There's no hurt done. _Jac._ 'Sfut but there shall be, Scab. _Clor._ Help, help for loves sake. _Fra._ Who's within there? _Fred._ So now you have made a fair hand. _Jac._ Why? _Fred._ You have kill'd me-- [_Fall as kill'd._