Scat. Save you, sweet bloods, save you.
Sir Lionel. Why, but what jig is this?
Scat. Nay, if I know, father, would I were hanged. I am e'en as innocent as the child new-born.
Sir Lionel. Ay, but son Bubble, where did you two buy your felts?
Scat. Felts! By this light, mine is a good beaver:
It cost me three pounds this morning upon trust.
Sir Lionel. Nay, I think you had it upon trust, for no man that has any shame in him would take money for it. Behold, sir.
Bub. Ha, ha, ha!
Sir Lionel. Nay, never do you laugh, for you're i' th' same block.
Bub. Is this the Italian fashion?