Enter Sir Quintilian.
Sir quin. Widdow, art stolne from Table? I Sir Adam,
Are you my riuall? well, flye faire y’are best; The King’s exceeding merrie at the banquet,
He makes the Bride blush with his merrie words,
That run into her eares; ah he’s a wanton,
Yet I dare trust her, had he twentie tongues,
And euerie tongue a Stile of Maiestie.
Now Widdow, let me tell thee in thine eare,
I loue thee Widdow, by this ring; nay weare it.
Mineu. Ile come in no rings pardie, Ile take no golde.
Sir Ada. Harke in thine eare, take me, I am no golde.
Enter Sir Vaughan and Peter Flash.
Sir Vau. Master Peter Flash, I will grope about Sir Quintilian, for his terminations touching and considering you.
Flash. I thanke your Worship, for I haue as good a stomacke to your Worship as a man could wish.
Sir Vau. I hope in God a mightie, I shall fill your stomack Master Peter: What two vpon one Sentlemen; Mistris Miniuer, much good doo’t you Sir Adam.
Sir quin. Sir Vaughan, haue you din’d well Sir Vaughan?
Sir Vau. As good seere as would make any hungrie man (and a were in the vilest prison in the world) eate and hee had anie stomacke: One word Sir Quintilian in hugger mugger; heere is a Sentleman of yours, Master Peter Flash, is tesirous to haue his blew coate pul’d ouer his eares; and....