_Mont._ But that I have nobler thoughts possess my soul, Than such brown Bisket, such a piece of Dog-fish, Such a most maungy Mackril eater as thou art, That dares do nothing that belongs to th' Sea, But spue, and catch Rats, and fear men of War, Though thou hast nothing in the world to loose Aboord thee, but one piece of Beef, one Musket Without a cock for peace sake, and a Pitch-barrel, I'll tell thee, if my time were not more pretious Than thus to loose it, I would rattle thee, It may be beat thee, and thy pure fellow, The Merchant there of Catskins, till my words, Or blows, or both, made ye two branded wretches To all the world hereafter; you would fain to Venture your Bils of lading for this Lady; What would you give now for her? some five frayl Of rotten Figs, good Godson, would you not, Sir? Or a Parrot that speaks _High Dutch_? can all thou ever saw'st Of thine own fraughts from Sea, or cosenage (At which thou art as expert as the Devil) Nay, sell thy soul for wealth to, as thou wilt do, Forfeit thy friends, and raise a mint of Money, Make thee dream all these double, could procure A kiss from this good Lady? canst thou hope She would lye with such a nook of Hell as thou art, And hatch young Merchant-furies? oh ye dog-bolts! That fear no [God] but _Dunkirk_, I shall see you Serve in a lowsy Lime-boat, e'r I dye, For mouldy Cheese and Butter, _Billingsgate_ Would not endure, or bring in rotten Pippins To cure blew eyes, and swear they came from _China_. _Lami._ Vex 'em no more, alas they shake: _Mont._ Down quickly on your marrow-bones, and thank this Lady. I would not leave you thus else, there are blankets, And such delights for such knaves; but fear still; 'Twill be revenge enough to keep you waking. Ye have no mind of marriage, ha' ye? _La-p._ Surely no great mind now. _Mont._ Nor you. _Mal._ Nor I, I take it. _Mont._ Two eager suitors. _L[a]v._ Troth 'tis wondrous hot, [God] bless us from him. _Lami._ You have told me _Montag[u]e_ Who are not fit to have me, let me know The man you would point out for me. _Mont._ There he sits; my Lord of _Amiens_, Madam, is my choice, he's noble every way, and worthy a wife with all the dowries of-- _Ami._ Do you speak Sir, out of your friendship to me? _Mont._ Yes my Lord, and out of truth, for I could never flatter. _Ami._ I would not say how much I owe you for it, For that were but a promise, but I'll thank ye, As now I find you, in despite of fortune, A fair and noble Gentleman. _Lami._ My Lords, I must confess the choice this man hath made Is every way a great one, if not too great, And no way to be slighted: yet because We love to have our own eyes sometimes n[o]w, Give me a little liberty to see, How I could fit my self, if I were put to't.