Lam. Ever-springing brightness.
Cla. Nay, Stand up Gentlemen, and leave your flatteries.
Mor. She calls us Gentlemen, sure we shall have some meat now.
Cla. I am a mortal creature,
Worship Heaven, and give these attributes
To their Divinities. Methinks ye look but thin.
Mor. Oh we are starv'd, immortal beauty.
Lam. We are all poor starv'd knaves.
Fran. Neither liberty nor meat, Lady.
Mor. We were handsome men, and Gentlemen, and sweet men,
And were once gracious in the eyes of beauties,
But now we look like Rogues;
Like poor starv'd rogues.
Cla. What would ye do if ye were to die now?
Fran. Alas, we were prepar'd. If you will hang us,
Let's have a good meal or two to die with,
To put's in heart.