FATHER.
Well, sir, my Master deserves not this of you,
And that you’ll shortly find.
[Exit.]
LANCELOT.
No matter, he’s an unthrift; I defy him.
Now, gentle son, let me know the place.
OLIVER.
No, chy vore you.
LANCELOT.
Let me see the note.
OLIVER. Nay, chill watch you for zutch a trick. But if che meet him, zoe, if not, zoe: chill make him know me, or chill know why I shall not, chill vare the worse.
LANCELOT.
What, will you then neglect my daughter’s love?
Venture your state and hers, for a loose brawl?
OLIVER. Why, man, chill not kill him; marry, chill veze him too, and again; and zoe God be with you, vather. What, man, we shall meet tomorrow.
[Exit.]
LANCELOT.
Who would a thought he had been so desperate.
Come forth, my honest servant Artichoke.