Seb. You Rogue Launcelot,
You lying Rascal.
Lan. Will ye spoil all again Sir.
Why, what a Devil do you mean?
Tom. Away knave,
Ye keep a company of sawcy fellows,
Debosh'd, and daily drunkards, to devour ye,
Things, whose dull souls, tend to the Celler only,
Ye are ill advis'd Sir, to commit your credit.
Seb. Sirrah, Sirrah.
Lan. Let me never eat again Sir,
Nor feel the blessing of another blew-coat,
If this young Gentleman, sweet Master Thomas,
Be not as mad as heart can wish: your heart Sir,
If yesternights discourse: speak fellow Robin,
And if thou speakest less than truth.
Tom. 'Tis strange these varlets.
Ser. By these ten bones Sir, if these eyes, and ears
Can hear and see.
Tom. Extream strange, should thus boldly
Bud in your sight, unto your son.
Lan. O deu guin
Can ye deny, ye beat a Constable
Last night?
Tom. I touch Authoritie, ye Rascal?
I violate the Law?