Hip. Gods my life, I thought he was a little to blame.
Rud. Come, come, you he[a]re not me, dame.
Pur. Well said, sir Cut: to her now; we shall heare fresh courting.
Hip. Alas, sir Cut, you are not worth the hearing, every body saies you cannot love, howsoever you talke on't.
Rud. Not love, dame? slidd what argument woodst have of my love, tro? lett me looke as redde as Scarlet a fore I see thee, and when thou comst in sight if the sunne of thy beauty, doe not white me like a shippards holland, I am a Iewe to my Creator.
Hip. O excellent!
Rud. Let me burst like a Tode, if a frowne of thy browe has not turned the very heart in my bellie and made mee readie to be hangd by the heeles for a fortnight to bring it to the right againe.
Hip. You shood have hangd longer sir Cut: tis not right yet.
Rud. Zonnes, bid me cut off the best lymme of my body for thy love, and ile lai't in thy hand to prove it. Doost thinke I am no Christian, have I not a soule to save?
Hip. Yes tis to save yet I warrant it, and wilbe while tis a soule if you use this.