Long. I think thou art his Porter,
Set here to answer creditors, that his Lordship
Is not within, or takes the diet: I am sent,
And will grow here until I have an answer,
Not to demand a debt of money, but
To call him to a strict account for wrong
Done to the honors of a Gentleman,
Which nothing but his heart-bloud shall wash off.
Dub. Shall I hear this?
Long. And more, that if [I] may not
Have access to him, I will fix this here
To his disgrace and thine.
Dub. And thy life with it.
Long. Then have the copies of it pasted on posts,
Like Pamphlet Titles, that sue to be sold;
Have his disgrace talk for Tobacco-shops,
His picture baffled.
Dub. All respect away, wer't in a Church— [draw both.
Long. This is the Book I pray with.
Enter Orleance.
Orl. Forbear upon your lives.
Long. What are you rouz'd? I hope your Lordship can read (though he stain not his birth with Scholar-ship) doth it not please you now? if you are a right Mounsieur, muster up the rest of your attendance, which is a Page, a Cook, a Pander, Coach-man, and a Footman, in these days a great Lords train, pretending I am unworthy to bring you a challenge, instead of answering it, have me kick'd.