Tuc. Come hether, my soure-fac’d Poet; fling away that beard-brush Bubo, casheere him and harke: Knight attend: So, that raw-head and bloudy-bones Sir Adam, has fee’d another brat (of those nine common wenches) to defend baldnes and to raile against haire: he’ll haue a fling at thee, my noble Cock-Sparrow.
Sir Vau. At mee? will hee fling the cudgels of his witte at mee?
Tuc. And at thy button-cap too; but come, Ile be your leader, you shall stand, heare all, & not be seene; cast off that blew coate, away with that flawne, and follow, come.
Exit.
Hor. Bubo, we follow Captaine.
Sir Va. Peter, leaue comming behinde me, I pray any longer, for you and I must part Peter.
Flash. Sounds Sir, I hope you will not serue me so, to turne me away in this case.
Sir Vau. Turne you into a fooles coate; I meane I will go solus, or in solitaries alone; ounds y-are best giue better words, or Ile turne you away indeed; where is Capten Tucky? come Horace; get you home Peter.
Flash. Ile home to your cost, and I can get into the Wine-Seller.
Exit.