War. Wons, Mon, this Monk sticks in my Gullet, the muckle Diel pull him out by th’ Lugs; the faud Loone will en spoyle and our Sport, mon.
Lam. I thought I had enough satisfied all your Fears; the Army’s mine, that is,—’tis yours, my Lords, and I’ll imploy it too so well for the Good of the Commonwealth, you shall have Cause to commend both my Courage and Conduct; my Lord Wariston, will you accompany me?
War. Ah, my gued Lord, the Honour is too great. ’Tis not but I’s dare fight, my Lord, but I love not the limmer Loone, he has a villanous honest Face an’s ene; I’s ken’d him ence, and lik’t him not; but [I’s drink tol yar gued Fortune]; let it gang aboote, ene and ad, Sirs.
[All drink.
Lam. We’ll leave all Discourse of Bus’ness, and give our selves to Mirth; I fancy good Success from this day’s Omen.
Enters Gill, whispers L. Lam. she rises.
L. Lam. Waited so long!
Gill. And grew impatient, an’t please your Highness; must I go tell him you cannot see him to night.
L. Lam. Not for the World; my silly Politician will be
Busying himself in the dull Affairs of State;