Boy. Sir, ye are yet afloat, and may recover, be not your own wreck, here lies the harbor, goe in and ride at ease.
Laz. Boy, I am receiv'd to be a Gentleman, a Courtier, and a man of action, modest, and wise, and be it spoken with thy reverence, Child, abounding virtuous; and wouldst thou have a man of these choise habits, covet the cover of a bawdy-house? yet if I goe not in, I am but—
Boy. But what Sir?
Laz. Dust boy, but dust, and my soul unsatisfied shall haunt the keepers of my blessed Saint, and I will appear.
Boy. An ass to all men; Sir, these are no means to stay your appetite, you must resolve to enter.
Laz. Were not the house subject to Martial Law—
Boy. If that be all, Sir, ye may enter, for ye can know nothing here that the Court is ignorant of, only the more eyes shall look upon you, for there they wink one at anothers faults.
Laz. If I doe not.
Boy. Then ye must beat fairly back again, fall to your physical mess of porridge, and the twice sack'd carkass of a Capon: Fortune may favour you so much, to send the bread to it: but it's a mee[re] venture, and money may be put out upon it.
Laz. I will go in and live; pretend some love to the Gentlewoman, screw my self in affection, and so be satisfied.