[Drinks.
Mal. Pooh! I will not pledge her.
Pass. Why, I pledged your lord.
Mal. I care not.
Pass. Not pledge Madam Maquerelle! why, then, will I spew up your lord again with this fool’s finger. 30
Mal. Hold; I’ll take it.
[Drinks.
Maq. Now thou hast drunk my health, fool, I am friends with thee.
Pass. Art? art?
When Griffon[532] saw the reconcilèd quean
Offering about his neck her arms to cast,
He threw off sword and heart’s malignant spleen,
And lovely her below the loins embrac’d.—
Adieu, Madam Maquerelle.
[Exit.