_Page._ Sir Fool? a Challenge to my Lord? How dar'st thou, or thy ambs-ace here think of him, Ye Crow-pick'd heads, which your thin shoulders bear As does the Poles on _Corinth_ Bridge the Traitors: Why you three Nine-pins you talk of my Lord, And challenges? you shall not need: come draw, His Page is able to swindge three such whelpes: Uncle, why stand ye off: long-man advance. _Onos._ S'light, what have we done Tutor? _Tut._ He is a Boy, And we may run away with honour. _Page._ That ye shall not, And being a Boy I am fitter to encounter A Child in Law as you are, under twenty: Thou sot, thou three-score Sot, and that's a Child Again I grant you. _Unc._ Nephew, here's an age: Boyes are turn'd men, and men are Children. _Page._ Away you Pezants with your bought Gentry; Are not you he, when your fellow Passengers, Your last transportment being assayl'd by a Galley Hid your self i'the Cabbin: and the Fight done Peep'd above Hatches, and cry'd, Have we taken, Or are we tane? Come, I do want a slipper, But this shall serve: Swear all as I would have you, Or I will call some dozen brother Pages, (They are not far off I am sure) and we will blancket You untill you piss again. _All._ Nay, we will swear Sir. _Page._ ['Tis] your best course: First, you shall swear never to name my Lord, Or hear him nam'd hereafter, but bare-headed. Next, to begin his health in every place, And never to refuse to pledge it, though You surfeit to the death. Lastly, to hold The poorest, litlest Page in reverence; To think him valianter, and a better Gentleman Than you three stamp'd together: and to give him Wine and Tobacco wheresoe're you meet, And the best meat if he can stay. _All._ We swear it loyally. _Page._ Then I dismiss you True Leigemen to the Pantoffle: I had more Articles, but I have business And cannot stay now: so adieu dear Monsieur, _Tres noble & tres puissant_. _Unc._ Adieu Monsieur. _On. A vostre service & commandement._ _Tut._ I told you Pupill, you'ld repent this foolery. _On._ Who, I repent? you are mistaken Tutor, I ne're repented any thing yet in my life, And scorne to begin now: Come, let's be melancholly. [_Exeunt._ _Scæna Secunda._ _Enter Queen, Euphanes, Conon, Lords._ _Lord._ 'Twere better treat with 'em. _Quee._ I will no Treaties With a League-breaker and a Rebell; shall I Article with a Traitor? be compell'd To yield an innocent unto their fury Whom I have prov'd so to you?