SCAR. You should have brought me up better.
LORD. That vice should thus transform man to a beast!
SCAR. Go to, your name's lord; I'll talk with you, when you're out of debt and have better clothes.
LORD. I pity thee even with my very soul.
SCAR. Pity i' thy throat! I can drink muscadine and eggs, and mulled sack; do you hear? you put a piece of turned stuff upon me, but I will—
LORD. What will you do, sir?
SCAR. Piss in thy way, and that's no slander.
LORD. Your sober blood will teach you otherwise.
Enter SIR WILLIAM SCARBOROW.
SIR WIL. My honoured lord, you're happily well-met.