Alg. Let us but bill once,
My Dove, my Sparrow, and I, with my office
Will be thy slaves for ever.
Mal. Are you so hot?
Alg. But tast the difference of a man in place,
You'l find that when authority pricks him forward,
Your Don, nor yet your Diego comes not near him
To do a Lady right: no men pay dearer
For their stoln sweets, than we: three minutes trading
Affords to any [si]nner a protection
For three years after: think on that, I burn;
But one drop of your bounty.
Mal. Hence you Rogue,
Am I fit for you? is't not grace sufficient
To have your staff, a bolt to bar the door
Where a Don enters, but that you'l presume
To be his taster?
Alg. Is no more respect
Due to [t]his rod of justice?
Mal. Do you dispute?
Good Doctor of the Dungeon, not a word more,
—If you do, my Lord Vitelli knows it.
Alg. Why I am big enough to answer him,
Or any man.
Mal. 'Tis well. [Vitelli within.
Vit. Malroda.
Alg. How?