Dol. You had an ill Millener,
He laid too much of the Gum of Ingratitude
Upon your Coat, you should have washt off that Sir,
Fie, how it choaks! too little of your loyaltie,
Your honesty, your faith, that are pure Ambers;
I smell the rotten smell of a hired Coward,
A dead Dog is sweeter.
Sep. Ye are merry Gentlemen,
And by my troth, such harmless mirth takes me too,
You speak like good blunt Souldiers; and 'tis well enough: