Young Lo. I, and 'tis well said my old peer of France: welcome Gentlemen, welcome Gentlemen; mine own dear Lads y'are richly welcome. Know this old Harry Groat.
Cap. Sir I will take your love.
Sav. Sir, you will take my Purse.
Cap. And study to continue it.
Sav. I do believe you.
Trav. Your honorable friend and Masters Brother, hath given you to us for a worthy fellow, and so we hugg you Sir.
Sav. Has given himself into the hands of Varlets, not to be carv'd out. Sir, are these the pieces?
Young Lo. They are the Morals of the Age, the vertues, men made of gold.
Sav. Of your gold you mean Sir.
Young Lo. This is a man of War, and cryes go on, and wears his colours.