Capt. Consider? that were a simple toy i'faith, consider? whose moral's that? The man that cryes consider is our foe: let my steel know him.
Young Lo. Stay thy dead doing hand, he must not die yet: prethee be calm my Hector.
Capt. Peasant slave, thou groom compos'd of grudgings, live and thank this Gentleman, thou hadst seen Pluto else. The next consider kills thee.
Trav. Let him drink down his word again in a gallon of Sack.
Poet. 'Tis but a snuffe, make it two gallons, and let him doe it kneeling in repentance.
Savil. Nay rather kill me, there's but a lay-man lost. Good Captain doe your office.
Young Lo. Thou shalt drink Steward, drink and dance my Steward. Strike him a horn-pipe squeakers, take thy striver, and pace her till she stew.
Savil. Sure Sir, I cannot dance with your Gentlewomen, they are too light for me, pray break my head, and let me goe.
Capt. He shall dance, he shall dance.
Young Lo. He shall dance, and drink, and be drunk and dance, and be drunk again, and shall see no meat in a year.