Wel. What of that Sir?
Ser. Faith Sir, I will handle it as the time and your patience will give me leave. This drink, or this cooling Julip, of which three spoonfuls kills the Calenture, a pint breeds the cold Palsie.
Wel. Sir, you bely the house.
Ser. I would I did Sir. But as I am a true man, if 'twere but one degree colder, nothing but an Asses hoof would hold it.
Wel. I am glad on't Sir, for if it had proved stronger, you had been tongue ti'd of these commendations. Light me the candle Sir, I'le hear no more. [Exeunt.
Enter young Loveless and his Comrades, with wenches, and two Fidlers.
Yo. Lo. Come my brave man of war, trace out thy darling,
And you my learned Council, sit and turn boyes,
Kiss till the Cow come home, kiss close, kiss close knaves.
My Modern Poet, thou shalt kiss in couplets.
Enter with Wine.
Strike up you merry varlets, and leave your peeping,
This is no pay for Fidlers.
Capt. O my dear boy, thy Hercules, thy Captain
Makes thee his Hylas, his delight, his solace.
Love thy brave man of war, and let thy bounty
Clap him in Shamois: Let there be deducted out of our main potation
Five Marks in hatchments to adorn this thigh,
Crampt with this rest of peace, and I will fight
Thy battels.
Yo. Lo. Thou shalt hav't boy, and fly in Feather, Lead on a March you Michers.