Leo. Be rul'd yet, I'le beat thee on; goe wink and fight: a plague upon your sheeps heart.
2 Gent. What's all this matter?
1 Gent. Nay I cannot shew ye.
Leo. Here's twenty pound, goe but smell to 'em.
Lieu. Alas Sir, I have taken such a cold I can smell nothing.
Leo. I can smell a Rascal, a rank Rascal: Fye, how he stinks, stinks like a tyred Jade.
2 Gent. What Sir?
Leo. Why, that Sir, do not you smell him?
2 Gent. Smell him?
Lieu. I must endure.