Sir Lionel. I believe the knave has drunk ipocras,
He is so pleasant.
Scat. Good-morrow, gentlemen.
Bub. Tu quoque to all: what, shall we go to church?
Come, I long to be about this gear.
Sir Lionel. Do you hear me; will you two go sleep again I take out the t'other nap; for you are both made coxcombs, and so am I.
Scat. How! coxcombs?
Sir Lionel. Yes, coxcombs.
Scat. Father, that word coxcomb goes against my stomach.
Bub. And against mine; a man might ha' digested a woodcock better.
Sir Lionel. You two come now to go to church to be married;
And they two come from church, and are married.