Welsh. Give me a great deal of Guns; thou art the Devils,
I know thee by thy tails; poor Owen's hungry,
I will peg thy bums full of Bullets.
Alph. This is the rarest Rascal,
He speaks as if he had butter-milk in's mouth,
Is this any thing akin to th' English?
Mast. The elder Brother, Sir,
He run mad because a Rat eat up's Cheese.
Alph. H'ad a great deal of reason, Sir.
Welsh. Basilus manus, is for an old Codpiss, mark ye,
I will borrow thy Urships Whore to seal a Letter.
Mast. Now he grows villainous.
Alph. Methinks he's best now.
Mast. Away with him.
Alph. He shall not.
Mast. Sir, he must.