Fis. Yes, for we all do know the Latitude
Of your Concupiscence.
Rus. Here about your belly.
Bub. You'l pick a bottle open or a whimsey,
As soon as the best of us.
Fis. And dip your wrist-bands,
(For Cuffs y'have none) as comely in the sauce [The Bell rings.
As any Courtier—hark, the Bell, who is there?
Rus. Good luck I do conjure thee; Boy look out.
Pip. They are Gallants, courtiers, one of 'em is
[Exit and enter again.
Of the Dukes bed-chamber.
Rus. Latorch, down,
On with your gown, there's a new suite arriv'd, [To Norbret.
Did I not tell you, Sons of hunger? Crowns,
Crowns are coming toward you, wine and wenches
You shall have once again, and Fidlers:
Into your studyes close; each lay his ear
To his door, and as you hear me to prepare you
So come, and put me on that visard only.
Enter Latorch, Hamond.
Lat. You'l not be far hence Captain, when the
Business is done you shall receive present dispatch.