Wit. Thou whoreson! art thou mad? come in, I say!
[Ill-Will comes in.
This is not the first hazard that I have scaped;
If I make an hand to deck myself gay,
What am I the worse?
Ill-W. From thy company I cannot abide;
I must needs hold upon thy side:
Ill-Will and Shrewd Wit, who can hide? B4,r.
For they will be together.
Wit. Now welcome, Will! and what cheer?
By God! I thought for thee a thousand year.
Peace! for God's body! who cometh there?
Hance Beerpot, a scon router!
[Entereth Hance with a Dutch song.
[Hance.] Gut, mynen scone rutters, by the moder Got!
Ic heist nowne schon, for stave ye nete
De qusteke man, iche bie do do?
Van the groate bumbarde well ic wete
Dartyck dowsant van enheb it mete
Ic best de manikin van de keining dangliter
De grot keyser kind ic bene his kusketer.
Ill-W. Hear ye not drunken Hance, how he begins to prate?
The malapert Fleming is a little too checkmate.
Wit. Let the knave alone! for his name is War:
Such drunken Flemings your company will mar.
Hance. Ic best nen einond; ic best in soche;
Ye fecte nete vell; ic forstave ye in doche.