Cour. Be sure that they be lewd, drunken, stripping whores, Sir Jolly, that won't be affectedly squeamish and troublesome.
Sir Jol. I warrant you.
Cour. I love a well-disciplined whore, that shows all the tricks of her profession with a wink, like an old soldier that understands all his exercise by beat of drum.
Sir Jol. Ah, thief, sayest thou so? I must be better acquainted with that fellow; he has a notable nose; a hard brawny carle, true and trusty, and mettle, I'll warrant him.
Beau. Well, Sir Jolly, you'll not fail us?
Sir Jol. Fail ye! am I a knight? hark ye, boys: I'll muster this evening such a regiment of rampant, roaring, roisterous whores, that shall make more noise than if all the cats in the Haymarket were in conjunction; whores, ye rogues, that shall swear with you, drink with you, talk bawdy with you, fight with you, scratch with you, lie with you, and go to the devil with you. Shan't we be very merry, ha?
Cour. As merry as wine, women, and wickedness can make us.
Sir Jol. Odd, that's well said again, very well said; as merry as wine, women, and wickedness can make us. I love a fellow that's very wicked dearly: methinks there's a spirit in him, there's a sort of tantara-rara; tantara-rara, ah, ah! well, and won't ye, when the women come, won't ye, and shall I not see a little sport amongst you? well, get ye gone; ah, rogues, ah, rogues, da, da, I'll be with you, da, da!
[Exeunt Beaugard and Courtine.