Fra. Away, away, you must not [be so] angry,
To part thus roughly from us; yet to me
This do's not shew, as if it were yours, the wars
May breed men something plain I know,
But not thus rude; give me your hand good Sir
I know 'tis white, and—
Jac. If I were not patient,
What would become of you two prating houswives?
Clo. For any thing I know, we would in to supper,
And there begin a health of lusty Claret
To keep care from our hearts, and it should be—
Fab. Faith to whom? Mark but this Jacomo.
Clo. Even to the handsomest fellow now alive.
Fab. Do you know such a one?
Fra. He may be ghest at,
Without much travel.
Fab. There's another item.
Clor. And he should be a Souldier.
Fra. 'Twould be better.