_Go._ Go, ye are a prodigal coxcomb! I a cowherd's son, because I turn not a drunken whore-hunting rake-hell like thyself! _Qu._ Rake-hell! rake-hell! [_Offers to draw, and_ GOLDING _trips up his heels and holds him_. _Go._ Pish, in soft terms, ye are a cowardly bragging boy. I'll ha' you whipt. _Qu._ Whipt?--that's good, i'faith! untruss me? 140 _Go._ No, thou wilt undo thyself. Alas! I behold thee with pity, not with anger: thou common shot-clog,[14] gull of all companies; methinks I see thee already walk-in Moorfields[15] without a cloak, with half a hat, without a band, a doublet with three buttons, without a girdle, a hose with one point, and no garter, with a cudgel under thine arm, borrowing and begging threepence. _Qu._ Nay, 'slife! take this and take all; as I am a gentleman born, I'll be drunk, grow valiant, and beat thee. [_Exit._ _Go._ Go, thou most madly vain, whom nothing can recover but that which reclaims atheists, and makes great persons sometimes religious--calamity. As for my place and life, thus I have read:-- 154 _Whate'er some vainer youth may term disgrace, The gain of honest pains is never base; From trades, from arts, from valour, honour springs, These three are founts of gentry, yea, of kings._ _Enter_ GERTRUDE, MILDRED, BETTRICE, _and_ POLDAVY, _a tailor_; POLDAVY _with a fair gown, Scotch farthingale and French-fall in his arms_; GERTRUDE _in a French head-attire, and citizen's gown_; MILDRED _sewing and_ BETTRICE _leading a monkey after her_.[16] _Ge._ For the passion of patience, look if Sir Petronel approach--that sweet, that fine, that delicate, that--for love's sake tell me if he come. O sister Mill, though my father be a low-capped tradesman, yet I must be a lady; and I praise God my mother must call me madam. Does he come? Off with this gown, for shame's sake, off with this gown: let not my knight take me in the city-cut in any hand: tear't, pax on't (does he come?) tear't off. "Thus whilst she sleeps, I sorrow for her sake," &c.[17] 167 _Mi._ Lord, sister, with what an immodest impatiency and disgraceful scorn do you put off your city 'tire; I am sorry to think you imagine to right yourself in wronging that which hath made both you and us.