Pal. For Emily, upon my life, fool
A way with this strain'd mirth; I say again
That sigh was breath'd for Emily; base Cosen,
Dar'st thou break first?
Arc. You are wide.
Pal. By heaven and earth, there's nothing in thee honest.
Arc. Then I'll leave you: you are a Beast now:
Pal. As thou mak'st me, Traytor.
Arc. There's all things needfull, files and shirts, and perfumes.
I'll come again some two hours hence, and bring
That that shall quiet all.
Pal. A Sword and Armor.
Arc. Fear me not; you are now too fowl; farewell.
Get off your Trinkets, you shall want nought.
Pal. Sir ha:
Arc. I'll here no more. [Exit.