FRAILTY. Foh, you lie, Nicholas; for here’s one strong enough. Blow us up, quatha: he may well blow me above twelve-score off an him. I warrant, if the wind stood right, a man might smell him from the top of Newgate, to the Leads of Ludgate.
CORPORAL.
Sirrah, thou Hollow-Book of Max-candle—
NICHOLAS.
Aye, you may say what you will, so you swear not.
CORPORAL.
I swear by the—
NICHOLAS. Hold, hold, good Corporal Oath; for if you swear once, we shall all fall down in a swoon presently.
CORPORAL. I must and will swear: you quivering Cocks-combs, my Captain is imprisoned, and by Vulcan’s Leather Cod-piece point—
NICHOLAS.
O Simon, what an oath was there.
FRAILTY. If he should chance to break it, the poor man’s Breeches would fall down about his heels, for Venus allows him but one point to his hose.
CORPORAL. With these my Bully-Feet I will thump ope the Prison doors, and brain the Keeper with the begging Box, but I’ll see my honest sweet Captain Idle at liberty.
NICHOLAS.
How, Captain Idle? my old Aunt’s son, my dear Kinsman, in
Capadochio?