Knock. This gallant has interrupting vapours, troublesome vapours; Whit, puff with him.
Whit. No, I pree dee, captain, let him alone; he is a child, i’faith, la.
Leath. Now, gentles, to the friends, who in number are two,
And lodged in that ale-house in which fair Hero does do.
Damon, for some kindness done him the last week,
Is come, fair Hero, in Fish-street, this morning to seek:
Pythias does smell the knavery of the meeting,
And now you shall see their true-friendly greeting.
Pup. Pythias. You whore-masterly slave, you.
Cokes. Whore-masterly slave you! very friendly and familiar, that.