Drawer. O, rare!
Capt. Face. Zounds! I'll first be damn'd: shall [my] sport
Be laugh'd at? by Dis, by Pluto, and great Proserpine,
My fatal blade, once drawn, falls but with death:
Yet if you'll let me go, I vow, by Jove,
No widow, maid, wife, punk, or cockatrice,
Shall make me haunt your ghosts.
Bout. 'Twill not serve, sir,
You must show more.
Capt. Face. I'll first be hang'd and damn'd.[420]
W. Small. Foot, can he jump so well?
Bout. Is he so quick?
I hope the slave will haunt no more the widow.
W. Small. As for that take no care, for by this light
She'll not have thee.
Bout. Not have me?
W. Small. No, not have thee.
By this hand, flesh, and blood, she is resolv'd
To make my father a most fearful cuckold,
And he's resolv'd to save his soul by her.
Bout. How, by her?