Clor. Lusty Laurence,
See what a Gentlewoman you have saluted;
Pray God she prove not quick.
Fred. Where were thine eyes
To take me for a woman? ha, ha, ha.
Jac. Who art 'a, art 'a mortal?
Fred. I am Frederick.
Jac. Then Frederick is an Asse,
A scurvy Frederick to laugh at me.
Fra. Sweet Captain.
Jac. Away woman;
Go stitch and serve, [God,] I despise thee woman,
And Frederick shall be beaten; 'Sfut ye Rogue
Have you none else to make your puppies of, but me?
Fred. I pre'thee be more patient
There's no hurt done.
Jac. 'Sfut but there shall be, Scab.
Clor. Help, help for loves sake.