Clo. Oh Gentlemen,
I am unjoynted, do but think o' that:
My breast is beat into my maw, that what I eat,
I am fain to take't in all at mouth with spoons;
A lamentable hearing; and 'tis well known, my belly
Is driven into my back.
I earn'd four Crowns a month most dearly Gentlemen,
And one he must have when the fit's upon him,
The Privy-purse allows it, and 'tis thriftiness,
He would break else s[o]me forty pounds in Casements,
And in five hundred years undo the Kingdom:
I have cast it up to a quarrel.
1 Bro. There's a fellow kickt about Court, I would
He had his place, brother, but for one fit of his indignation.
2 Bro. And suddainly I have thought upon a means for't.
1 Bro. I prethee how?
2 Bro. 'Tis but preferring, Brother
This stockfish to his service, with a Letter
Of commendations, the same way he wishes it,
And then you win his heart: for o' my knowledge
He has laid wait this half year for a fellow
That will be beaten, and with a safe conscience
We may commend the carriage of this man in't;
Now servants he has kept, lusty tall feeders,
But they have beat him, and turn'd themselves away:
Now one that would endure, is like to stay,
And get good wages of him; and the service too
Is ten times milder, Brother, I would not wish it else.
I see the fellow has a sore crush'd body,
And the more need he has to be kick'd at ease.
Clow. I sweet Gentlemen, a kick of ease, send me to such a Master.
2 Bro. No more I say, we have one for thee, a soft footed Master,
One that wears wooll in's toes.
Clow. Oh Gentlemen, soft garments may you wear,
Soft skins may you wed,
But as plump as pillows, both for white and red.
And now will I reveal a secret to you,
Since you provide for my poor flesh so tenderly,
Has hir'd meer rogues out of his chamber window,
To beat the Soldier, Monsieur Shamont's Brother:
1 Bro. That nothing concerns us, Sir.
Clow. For no cause, Gentlemen,
Unless it be for wearing Shoulder-points,
With longer taggs than his.