Fee. Whore in thy face, I do defy thy taunts.
Bold. Nay, hold, fair lady: now I think upon't,
The old Count has no wife; let's make a match.
Omnes. If he be so contented.
Count. With all my heart.
Bold. Then kiss your spouse.
Count. 'Sfoot! she has a beard. How now! my son?
Omnes. 'Tis the Lord Feesimple!
[Feesimple unmasks.
Fee. Father, lend me your sword. You and I are made a couple of fine fools, are we not? If I were not valiant now, and meant to beat 'em all, here would lie a simple disgrace upon us, a Feesimple one, indeed. Mark now, what I'll say to 'em. D'ye hear me, my masters? Damn me, ye are all the son of a whore, and ye lie, and I will make it good with my sword. This is called roaring, father.
Sub. I'll not meddle with you, sir.
Proudly. You are my blood.