KASTRIL

I, and the best o'the Kastrills, I'lld be sorry else, By fifteen hundred, a year Where is this Doctor? My mad Tobacco-Boy, here, tells me of one, That can do things. Has he any skill? To carry a business, manage a Quarrel, fairly, Upon fit terms. Sir, not so young, but I have herd some speech Of the angry Boys, and seene'hem take Tobacco; And in his shop: and I can take it too. And I would feign be one of'hem, and go down And practice i'the country. How? to take it? But, dos he teach Living, by the Wits, too? No, I'll not come there. You shall pardon me. There's gaming there, and tricks. I, it'll spend a man. What, three thousand a year? Are there such? Do you not gull one? Will the Doctor teach this? I faith! Is he such a fellow? Gods will, my Sister shall see him. Pray thee Tobacco-Boy, Go fetch my Sister, I'll see this learned Boy, before I go: And so shall he. Where's the Captain? Gone? You lie. Nay, that look you too; I am aforehand. What is this The angry tongue he talks in? How must I do then, Sir? Is she, i'faith? How know you? Hold your peace. Here comes the tother rare man. Save you Captain. I Sir. Please you to kusse her, and be proud to know her? I, peace. I, herd it. To be a Countess say you? Nay, she is a fool, Captain, you must pardon her. She shall do that, Sir. I'll look to't, it's my charge Gods lid. you shall love him, or I'll kick you. Do, Or by this hand I'll maul you. Most brave! By this hand, you are not my Sister, If you refuse. And admirable language! Is't not French? It goes Like Law-French, And that, they say, is the Court-liest language. Must not she make curtsy? He speaks to her, I think? Nay, see: she will notvnderstand him. Gull. Noddy. Ass, my Sister, Go kusse him, as the Cunning man would have you. I'll thrust a pin i'your buttocks else. Bravely, i'faith! Do you think so? Where do's he carry her? Agreed. I love a Spanish Boy, with all my heart. I, I knew that, at first. This match will advance the House of the Kastrils. Why, Her name is so, by her other Husband. The Widow Pliant. Knew you not that? Yes, but do you think, Doctor. I ever shall quarrel well? Where is he? Which is he? He is a Slave What ere he is, and the Son of a Whore. Are you The Man, Sir, I would know? Then you lie, in your throat. You lie, And it's no matter. Be gone Sir, quickly. I, I know—Away, you talk Like a foolish Mauther. Yes, how then Sir? I will. Sir, if you get not out of doors, you lie, And you are a Pimp. It is my humour: you are a Pimp, and a Trig, And and Amadis de Gaul, or a Done Quixote. I'll keep peace, for no man. Is he the Constable? Then you are and Otter, and a Shad, a Whit, A very Time. I will not. Will you be gone, Sir? Be gone Sir. Hence Sir. Did I not quarrel bravely? Nay and I give my mind to't, I shall do't, I'll return him, then. What Rogues, Bawds, Slaves, you'il open the door anon. Punque, Cockatrice, my Sister. By this light I'll fetch the Marshal to you. You are a Whore, To keep your Castle. The baudy Doctor, and the Cosening Captain, And Put my Sister. I have herd all their tricks, told me twice over, By the fat Knight, and the lean Gentleman. My Sister's there. I, I will fetch the Scavenger, and the Cunstable. You will not come then? Punque, Devise, my Sister? I'll raise the street. God's-light, ding it open. Doxy, my Sister. The Nun my Sister. I that's my Sister. I'll go thump her. Where is she? Come on, you Yew, you have matched most sweetly, have you not? Did not I say, I would never have you tupt But by a dubbed Boy, to make you a Lady-Tom? God's-light, you are a Mammet! Oh, I could touse you, now. Death, mun' you marry with a pox? Anon? Gods light! This is a fine Old Boy, as ere I saw! God's-light I must love him: I cannot choose i'faith, And I should be hanged for't. Sister, I protest I honour thee, for this match. Yes, and thou canst take Tobacco, and drink, Old Boy, I'll give her five hundred pound more, to her Marriage, Then her own State. God's-light, thou art not Hidebound, thou art a Iouy Boy! Come let's in pray thee, and take our W ffes.