Enter Doctor in poste, the Marchant following him.
Doct. O stay, my Lorte, me pray you on knee von staie.
Alp. What's the matter, Doctor?
Doct. O me bret be garr for haste.
Con. What ayles the hastie Doctor?
Doct. My Lort be garr he lyes falslie in his troate; Me proove by the duell dat he be the fallce knave.
Alp. Who is it, man, with whom thou art so bold?
Doct. My Lorte, if me make my contrack of marriage, if me be not as loose as de vide worlde, if me doe not alleadge—
Alp. I pray thee, man, what meanest thou?
Doct. Be garr, enforme your grace vot he dare I will proove by good argument and raison dat he is de falce beggerlie Jeweller, dat I no point marrie Cornelia. Vat say you now?