Jolly. Ay, at London: there your country gentlemen are good company; where to be seen with them is a kind of credit. I come to a mercer's shop in your coach: Boy, call your master: he comes bare; I whisper him, Do you know the Constants and the Sads of Norfolk? Yes, yes, he replies, and strokes his beard. They are good men, cry I. Yes, yes. No more; cut me off three suits of satin. He does it, and in the delivery whispers, Will these be bound? Pish! drive on, coachman; speak with me to-morrow.
Con. And what then?
Jolly. What then? why, come again next day.
Sad. And what if the country gentleman will not be bound?
Jolly. Then he must fight.
Sad. I would I had known that, before I had signed your bond: I would have set my sword sooner than my seal to it.
Jolly. Why, if thou repent, there's no harm done: fight rather than pay it.
Sad. Why, do you think I dare not fight?
Jolly. Yes, but I think thou hast more wit than to fight with me; for if I kill thee, 'tis a fortune to me, and others will sign in fear: and if thou shouldst kill me, anybody that knows us would swear 'twere very strange, and cry, There's God's just judgment now upon that lewd youth, and thou procur'st his hangman's place at the rate of thy estate.