Cand. A bawd? Sir, I’ll steal hence, and see your lawns
Some other time.
Mat. Steal out of such company? Pacheco, my man is but gone for ’em: Lieutenant Bots, drink to this worthy old fellow, and teach him to fly high.
Lod., Ast., &c. Swagger: and make him do’t on his knees.
Cand. How, Bots? now bless me, what do I with Bots?
No wine in sooth, no wine, good Master Bots.
Bots. Gray-beard, goat’s pizzle: ’tis a health, have this in your guts, or this, there [Touching his sword.] I will sing a bawdy song, sir, because your verjuice face is melancholy, to make liquor go down glib. Will you fall on your marrowbones, and pledge this health? ’Tis to my mistress, a whore.
Cand. Here’s ratsbane upon ratsbane, Master Bots;
I pray, sir, pardon me: you are a soldier,
Press me not to this service, I am old,
And shoot not in such pot-guns.[300]
Bots. Cap. I’ll teach you.
Cand. To drink healths, is to drink sickness—gentlemen.
Pray rescue me.
Bots. Zounds, who dare?
Lod., Ast., &c. We shall ha’ stabbing then?