Foro. Wilt thou peach thou varlet?
Duke. Why does he goggle with his eyes, and stalke so?
Clow. This is one of his Magical raptures.
Foro. I do vilifie your censure, you demand if I am guilty, whir says my cloak by a trick of Legerdemain, now I am not guilty, I am guarded with innocence, pure Silver Lace I assure you.
Clow. Thus have I read to you your virtues, which notwithstanding I would not have you proud of.
Foro. Out thou concealment of Tallow, and counterfeit Mummia.
Duke. To the Gallies with them both.
Clow. The only Sea-physick for a knave, is to be basted in a Gally, with the oil of a Bulls Peesel.
Foro. And will not you make a sour face at the same sauce, sirrah? I hope to find thee so lean in one fortnight, thou mayst be drawn by the ears through the hoop of [a] firkin.
Duke. Divide them, and away with them to th' Gallies.