Beau. You are a very fine gentleman.
Sir Jol. The best-natured fellow in the world, I believe, of my years! Now does my heart so thump for fear this business should miscarry: why, I'll warrant thee the lady is here, man; she's all thy own; 'tis thy own fault if thou art not in terra incognita within this half-hour: come along, pr'ythee come along; fie for shame! what, make a lady lose her longing! come along, I say, you—out upon't!
Beau. Sir, your humble, I shan't stir.
Sir Jol. What, not go?
Beau. No, sir, no lady for me.
Sir Jol. Not go! I should laugh at that, faith!
Beau. No, I will assure you, not go, sir.
Sir Jol. Away, you wag! you jest, you jest, you wag; not go, quoth-a?
Beau. No, sir, not go, I tell you; what the devil would you have more?
Sir Jol. Nothing, nothing, sir, but I am a gentleman.