Mar. What say you to this, maister Doctor. Mistresse, let me speake. That I do love you I dare not say, least I should offend you; that I would marry you I had rather you should conceive then I should utter: and I do live or die upon your Monasi[la]ble, I or no.
Doct. By gar if you will see de Marshan hang himselfe, say no: a good shasse by garr.
Han. A filthy French jest as I am a Dutch gentleman.
Mar. Mistresse, Ile bring you from Arabia, Turckie, and India, where the Sunne doth rise, Miraculous Jemmes, rare stuffes of pretious worke, To beautifie you more then all the paintings Of women with their coullour-fading cheekes.
Doct. You bring stuffe for her? you bring pudding. Me vit one, two, tree pence more den de price buy it from dee and her too by garr: by garr dow sella' dy fader for two pence more. Madam, me gieve you restoratife; me give you tings (but toush you) make you faire; me gieve you tings make you strong; me make you live six, seaven, tree hundra yeere: you no point so, Marshan. Marshan run from you two, tree, foure yere together: who shall kisse you dan? Who shall embrace you dan? Who shall toush your fine hand? ô shall, ô sweete, by garr.
Mar. Indeed, M. Doctor, your commodities are rare; a guard of Urinals in the morning; a plaguie fellow at midnight; a fustie Potticarie ever at hand with his fustian drugges, attending your pispot worship.
Doct. By garr, skurvy marshan, me beat dee starck dead, and make dee live againe for sav'a de law.
Han. A plaguie marshan by gar, make the doctor angre.
Doct. Now, madam, by my trot you be very faire.
Cor. You mock me, M. Doct, I know the contrary.