Abig. Sweet Mr. Welford.
Wel. Avoid old Satanus: Go daub your ruines, your face looks fouler than a storm: the Foot-man stayes for you in the Lobby Lady.
Abig. If you were a Gentleman, I should know it by your gentle conditions: are these fit words to give a Gentlewoman?
Wel. As fit as they were made for ye: Sirrah, my horses. Farwell old Adage, keep your nose warm, the Rheum will make it horn else— [Exit Welford.
Abig. The blessings of a Prodigal young heir be thy companions Welford, marry come up my Gentleman, are your gums grown so tender they cannot bite? A skittish Filly will be your fortune Welford, and fair enough for such a packsaddle. And I doubt not (if my aim hold) to see her made to amble to your hand. [Exit Abigal.
Enter Young Loveless, and Comrades, Morecraft, Widow, Savil, and the rest.
Captain. Save thy brave shoulder, my young puissant Knight, and may thy back Sword bite them to the bone that love thee not, thou art an errant man, go on. The circumcis'd shall fall by thee. Let Land and labour fill the man that tills, thy sword must be thy plough, and Jove it speed. Mecha shall sweat, and Mahomet shall fall, and thy dear name fill up his monument.
Yo. L. It shall Captain, I mean to be a Worthy.
Cap. One Worthy is too little, thou shalt be all.
Mor. Captain I shall deserve some of your love too.