Mir. I love thee dearly.
Bel. I beat all that love, Love has undone me;
Never tell me, I will not be a History.
Mir. Thou art not.
Bel. 'Sfoot I will not; give me room,
And let me see the proudest of ye jeer me,
And I'le begin with you first.
Mir. 'Prethee Belleur;
If I do not satisfie thee—
Bel. Well, look ye do:
But now I think on't better, 'tis impossible;
I must beat some body, I am maul'd my self,
And I ought in justice—
Mir. No, no, no, ye are couzen'd;
But walk, and let me talk to thee.
Bel. Talk wisely,
And see that no man laugh upon no occasion;
For I shall think then 'tis at me.
Mir. I warrant thee.
Bel. Nor no more talk of this.