_3._ Doe, and see what follows: I'll spend an hundred pound, and be two I care not: but I'll undoe thee. _2._ Peach, Oh disgrace! Peach in thy face, and doe the worst thou canst: I am a true-man, and a free-man: peach! _1._ Nay, look, you will spoil all. _2._ Peach! _1._ Whilst you two brawl together, the Prince will lose his life. _3._ Come, give me your hand, I love you well, are you for the action? _2._ Yes: but Peach provokes me, 'tis a cold fruit, I feel it cold in my stomach still. _3._ No more, I'll give you Cake to digest it. _Enter the Fourth._ _4._ Shut up my shop, and be ready at a call boys, and one of you run over my old tuck with a few ashes, 'tis grown odious with tosting Cheese: and burn a little Juniper in my Murrin, the Maid made it her Chamber-pot: an hour hence I'll come again; and as you hear from me, send me a clean shirt. _3._ The Chandler by th[e] Wharf, and it be thy Will. _2._ Gossip, good morrow. _4._ Oh good morrow Gossip: good morrow all, I see ye of one mind you cleave so close together: come 'tis time, I have prepared [a] hundred if they stand. _1._ 'Tis well done: shall we sever, and about it? _3._ First, let's to the Tavern, and a pint a piece will make us Dragons. _2._ I will have no mercy, come what will of it. _4._ If my tuck hold, I'll spit the Guard like Larks with sage between 'em. _2._ I have a foolish Bill to reckon with 'em, will make some of their hearts ake, and I'll lay it on: now shall I fight, 'twill do you good to see me. _3._ Come, I'll do something for the Town to talk of when I am rotten: pray God there be enough to kill, that's all. [_Exeunt._ _Enter_ Dorialus, Nisus, Agenor. _Age._ How black the day begins! _Dor._ Can you blame it, and look upon such a deed as shall be done this morning? _Nis._ Does the Prince suffer to day? _Dor._ Within this hour they say. _Agen._ Well, they that are most wicked are most safe: 'twill be a strange justice, and a lamentable, gods keep us from the too soon feeling of it. _Doria._ I care not if my throat were next: for to live still, and live here, were but to grow [f]at for the Shambles. _Nis._ Yet we must do it, and thank 'em too, that our lives may be accepted. _Age._ Faith I'll go starve [my] self, or grow diseas'd to shame the hangman; for I am sure he shall be my Herald, and quarter me. _Dor._ I, a plague on him, he's too excellent at Arms. _Nisus._ Will you go see this sad sight, my Lord _Agenor_? _Age._ I'll make a mourner. _Dor._ If I could do him any good, I would goe, The bare sight else will but afflict my spirit, My prayers shall be as near him as your eyes: As you find him setled, remember my love and service to his Grace.