_Sir Vau._ Capten Tucky, I will pay back her 5. £. (vnles you be damn’d in lyes) & hold you, I pray you pocket vp this; by the |1760| crosse a this sword & dagger, Capten you shall take it. _Tuc._ Dost sweare by daggers? nay then Ile put vp more at thy hands then this. _Flash._ Is the fray done sir? _Sir Vau._ Done Peter, put vp your smeeter. |1765| _Tuc._ Come hether, my soure-fac’d Poet; fling away that beard-brush Bubo, casheere him and harke: Knight attend: So, that raw-head and bloudy-bones Sir Adam, has fee’d another brat (of those nine common wenches) to defend baldnes and to raile against haire: he’ll haue a fling at thee, my noble Cock-Sparrow. |1770| _Sir Vau._ At mee? will hee fling the cudgels of his witte at mee? _Tuc._ And at thy button-cap too; but come, Ile be your leader, you shall stand, heare all, & not be seene; cast off that blew coate, away with that flawne, and follow, come. _Exit._ _Hor._ Bubo, we follow Captaine. |1775| _Sir Va._ Peter, leaue comming behinde me, I pray any longer, for you and I must part Peter. _Flash._ Sounds Sir, I hope you will not serue me so, to turne me away in this case. _Sir Vau._ Turne you into a fooles coate; I meane I will go _solus_, |1780| or in solitaries alone; ounds y-are best giue better words, or Ile turne you away indeed; where is Capten Tucky? come Horace; get you home Peter. _Flash._ Ile home to your cost, and I can get into the Wine-Seller. _Exit._ |1785| _Hor._ Remember where to meete mee. _Asin._ Yes Ile meete; Tucca should ha found I dare meete. _Exit._ _Ho._ Dare defend baldnes, which our conquering Muse Has beaten downe so flat? Well, we will goe, |1790| And see what weapons theyr weake wittes doe bring; If sharpe, we’ll spred a large and nobler wing; Tucca, heere lyes thy Peace: warre roares agen; My Swoord shall neuer cutte thee, but my pen. _Exit._ _Enter_ Sir Adam, Crispinus, Fannius, Blunt, Miniuer, Petula, |1795| Philocalia _and_ Dicace. _Ladies._ Thankes good Sir Adam. _Sir Ada._ Welcome red-cheekt Ladies, And welcome comely Widdow; Gentlemen, Now that our sorry banquet is put by, |1800| From stealing more sweet kisses from your lips Walke in my garden: Ladyes let your eyes Shed life into these flowers by their bright beames, Sit, Sit, heere’s a large bower, heere all may heare, Now good Crispinus let your praize begin |1805| There, where it left off Baldnes. _Cris._ I shall winne No praise, by praising that, which to depraue, All tongues are readie, and which none would haue.