I with all my heart, and thou art worthy of it.
I haue not my Lord deseru'd it.
Yes good faith, eu'ry dramme of it, and I will
Well, I shall be wiser.
Eu'n as soone as thou can'st, for thou hast to pull
at a smacke a'th contrarie. If euer thou bee'st bound
in thy skarfe and beaten, thou shall finde what it is to be
proud of thy bondage, I haue a desire to holde my ac
quaintance with thee, or rather my knowledge, that I
may say in the default, he is a man I know.
My Lord you do me most insupportable vexati
I would it were hell paines for thy sake, and my
poore doing eternall: for doing I am past, as I will by
thee, in what motion age will giue me leaue.
Well, thou hast a sonne shall take this disgrace
off me; scuruy, old, filthy, scuruy Lord: Well, I must
be patient, there is no fettering of authority. Ile beate
him (by my life) if I can meete him with any conueni
ence, and he were double and double a Lord. Ile haue
no more pittie of his age then I would haue of⸺ Ile
beate him, and if I could but meet him agen.
Sirra, your Lord and masters married, there's
newes for you: you haue a new Mistris.
I most vnfainedly beseech your Lordshippe to
make some reseruation of your wrongs. He is my good
Lord, whom I serue aboue is my master.
The deuill it is, that's thy master. Why dooest
thou garter vp thy armes a this fashion? Dost make hose
of thy sleeues? Do other seruants so? Thou wert best set
thy lower part where thy nose stands. By mine Honor,
if I were but two houres yonger, I'de beate thee: mee
think'st thou art a generall offence, and euery man shold
beate thee: I thinke thou wast created for men to breath
themselues vpon thee.
This is hard and vndeserued measure my Lord.
Go too sir, you were beaten in
a kernell out of a Pomgranat, you are a vagabond, and
no true traueller: you are more sawcie with Lordes and
honourable personages, then the Commission of your
birth and vertue giues you Heraldry. You are not worth
another word, else I'de call you knaue. I leaue you.
Good, very good, it is so then: good, very
good, let it be conceal'd awhile.
Vndone, and forfeited to cares for euer.
What's the matter sweet‑heart?
Although before the solemne Priest I haue
sworne, I will not bed her.
What? what sweet heart?
Parrolles, they haue married me: Tuscanwarres, and neuer bed her. Franceis a dog‑hole, and it no more merits,
There's letters from my mother: What th' im
port is, I know not yet.