_Sir Jol._ Fail ye! am I a knight? hark ye, boys: I'll muster this evening such a regiment of rampant, roaring, roisterous whores, that shall make more noise than if all the cats in the Haymarket were in conjunction; whores, ye rogues, that shall swear with you, drink with you, talk bawdy with you, fight with you, scratch with you, lie with you, and go to the devil with you. Shan't we be very merry, ha? _Cour._ As merry as wine, women, and wickedness can make us. _Sir Jol._ Odd, that's well said again, very well said; as merry as wine, women, and wickedness can make us. I love a fellow that's very wicked dearly: methinks there's a spirit in him, there's a sort of tantara-rara; tantara-rara, ah, ah! well, and won't ye, when the women come, won't ye, and shall I not see a little sport amongst you? well, get ye gone; ah, rogues, ah, rogues, da, da, I'll be with you, da, da! [_Exeunt_ BEAUGARD _and_ COURTINE. _Enter several_ Whores, _and Three_ Bullies. _1st Bully._ In the name of Satan, what whores are these in their copper trim, yonder? _1st Whore._ Well, I'll swear, madam, 'tis the finest evening;--I love the Mall mightily. _2nd Bully._ Let's huzza the bulkers. _2nd Whore._ Really, and so do I; because there's always good company, and one meets with such civilities from every body. _3rd Bully._ Damned whores! hout, ye filthies! _3rd Whore._ Ay, and then I love extremely to show myself here, when I am very fine, to vex those poor devils that call themselves virtues, and are very scandalous and crapish, I'll swear. O crimine! who's yonder? Sir Jolly Jumble, I vow. _1st Bully._ Faugh! let's leave the nasty sows to fools and diseases. [_Exeunt_ Bullies. _1st Whore._ Oh papa, papa! where have you been these two days, papa? _2nd Whore._ You are a precious father indeed, to take no more care of your children! we might be dead for all you, you naughty daddy, you. _Sir Jol._ Dead, my poor fubses! odd, I had rather all the relations I have were dead; a-dad, I had. Get you gone, you little devils! Bubbies! oh, law, there's bubbies!--odd, I'll bite 'em; odd, I will! _1st Whore._ Nay, fie, papa! I'll swear you'll make me angry, except you carry us and treat us to-night; you have promised me a treat this week; won't you, papa? _2nd Whore._ Ay, won't you, dad? _Sir Jol._ Odds so, odds so, well remembered! get you gone, don't stay talking: get you gone! Yonder's a great lord, the Lord Beaugard, and his cousin the baron, the count, the marquis, the Lord knows what, Monsieur Courtine, newly come to town, odds so. _3rd Whore._ O law, where, daddy, where? O dear, a lord! _1st Whore._ Well, you are the purest papa; but where be dey mun, papa?