Pre. Willing minds will make shift in a simple hole; close windows, strong locks, hard bed, and sure posts, are your only ornaments.
Prate. I think the knave be mad; sirrah, you chop-logic blockhead, you that have your brain-pan made of dry leather, and your wit ever wetshod, pack about your business, or I'll pack your pen and inkhorn about your ears.
Pre. Well, sir, I may go or so, but would my mistress take a standing of my preferment, I would so mount her, she should love strange things the better all her life after. [Aside.
Prate. Why, when, sir? [Exit Precedent.
And come, sweet wife; and, neighbour,
Let us have your company too. [Exeunt.
Enter at one door a Herald, and Florio, marshal for the King, with officers bearing the lists; at the other door a Herald, and Cælio, marshal for the Queen.
Cae. Holla! what are you?
Flo. High marshal for the king. Your character?
Cae. I likewise for the queen; where lies your equal ground?
Flo. Here underneath these walls, and there and there
Ground for the battles.
Cae. Place there the queen's seat,
And there and there chairs for the combatants.