Jac. Well, something troubled with waterish humours.
Fab. Foh, how thou stink'st! pre'thee stand further off me,
Me thinks these humours become thee better than thy dry
Cholerick humours, or thy wine-wet humours; ha?
Jac. You're pleasant, but Fabritio know I am not in the mood of
Suffering jests.
Fab. If you be not i' th' mood I hope you will not be moody,
But truly I cannot blame the Gentlewomen, you stood evesdropping
Under their window, and would not come up.
Jac. Sir, I suspect now, by your idle talk
Your hand was in't, which if I once believe,
Be sure you shall account to me.
Fab. The Gentlewomen and the Maids have counted to you already,
The next turn I see is mine.
Jac. Let me dye but this is very strange; good Fabritio
Do not provoke me so.
Fab. Provoke you? you're grown the strangest fellow; there's no
Keeping company with you, phish; take you that.
Fab. gives him a box o'th' ear suddenly, and throws him from him, and goes his way, whilst Jaco. draws his Sword.
Jac. O all the Devils! stand Slave.