FRANCISCHINA

Oh mine aderliuer love, what shall me do to requi dis your must affection. A mine art, Sir you been very velcome. Will not you stay in mine bosom to night love He shall have a bed too, if that it please him. Rest to mine deer love, rest, and no long absence. Shall Ick not believe you long. Exit Fracischina. Oh mine feet, dearest, kindest, mine loving, Oh mine tow sand, ten towsand, delicated, petty seet art Cantat Gallice. a mine a deer leeuest affection. De diet is very good for de rheum. Pre de now, 'tis but a toy, a very trifle. I fait, me must needs have it (dis is Beatrice ring, o could I get it,) seet pree de now, as ever you have embraced me with a hearty arm, a warm thought, or a pleasing touch, as e ver you will profess to love me, as ever you do wish me life, give me dis ring, dis little ring. Oh min poor forsaken heart. Mine vowed, go, go, go, I can no more of love, no, no, no, you been all unconstant, Oh unfaithful men, tyrants, betray ers, de very enjoying us, loses us, and when you only would made us hateful, you only hate us: Oh mine forsaken heart. Now fai , I judge it all incredible, until this hour I saw you pretty fair eyed yout, would you enjoy me? I, no there is no such vehemence in your affects, Would I were any thing, so he were not. Oh done safely, a quarrel sudden picked, with and advantage strike, then bribe, a little coin, Al's safe, deer soul, but I'll not set you on, Not yet my vow. Pan you poultron. By me fait dis been very fine language, Ick shall bush you now, would, be garzon vare had you that place? What shall me do now, Gods sacramant: tell him two ho wers hence he shall be most affectionately velcome, tell him (what sal me do) tell him Ick am been in my bore, and Ick fallen perfume my seetes, make a mine body so delicate for his arm Two hours hence. Now Ick shall revange, hay, begar me sal tartar de whole generation, mine brain vorke it, Frevile, is dead, Malhareux shall hang, And mine rival Beatrice, Ick shall make run mad. Very vel, give mons to some fellow to squire me, Ick sal go abroad. No po , me a eome to assure you Dam on mest Mal heureus hath killed him. If that it please you to go bring you ere you'll all hear Ma she eus his own lips confess it, a may apprehend him and revenge your and mine loves He was so sir, let you it do not die, de young man that be flame did you me ten tousant tousant times more dearly. For look you Lady as your king he gave jests at your scorned kin Oh but to be abused, scornde, scoffed at, Oh ten thousand did by such a one, and unto such a one. Ick shall, or let me pay for his, mine blood. Mine shambre is hard by, Ick shall bring you to it presant meant. You been very velcom to mine shambra. Oh Mine-here. Ick shall tell you, metre Malhereux Came all bretlesse running a my shambra His sword all bloody: he tell a me he had kill Frevile, And pred a me to conceal him: Ick flatter him, bid bring moneys, he should live and lie vid me, He went while Ick (me hope vidout sins) out of mine Much love to Frevile betray him. Dear, peace, rest dear, so softly, all go in: De net is lay, now sal Ick be revenge. If that me knew a dog that Frevile love, Me would puisson him, for know de deepest hell As a revenging Woman's, nought so fell. Bid him come up, I prede. Oh min here man, a dear liver Love, Mine ten tousant times velcom Love, Would, by mine trat, you been de joust, what shall me say: What seet honey name shall I call you? No, no, not yet mine seetest soft-lipped love: You shall not gulp down all delights at once: Be min trat, dis all-fles-Louers, dis ravenous Wenches That sallow all down hold, will have all at one bit, Fie, fie, fie, be min fait day do eat Comfets vid spoons. No, no, I'll make you chew your pleasure vit love, "De more degrees and steps, de more delight, "De more endeared is de pleasure hight. Go little vag, pleasure should have a Cranes long neck, to relish de Ambrosia of Delight. And Ick pre de tell me, for me loves to hear of manhood Very much, Isait: Ick prede (what vas me a saying) O, Ick prede tell a me: How did you kill a metre Frevile? What did you vid him van he was sticken? Metre Frevile live: would, would, live at mestre Shatewes: Much at metre Shatews. Frevile is dead. Malhereux shall hang, And sweet devil, that Beatrice would but run mad, that she would but run mad, den me would dance and sing, Metre Done Dubon, me pre you now go to Mestres Beatrice, tell her Frevile is sure dead, and that he Curse his self especially, for that he was Sticked in his quarrel, swearing in his last gasp, That if it had been in mine quarrels, Twould never have grieved him. Prede do, and say any ting that vil vex her. Vil you, vil you make a her run mad? here take Dis ring, sea me scorn to wear any ting that washers, Or his: I prede torment her, Ick cannot love her, She honest and virtuous forsooth. What. Vil you make a her mad? seet by min trat, Be pretta seruan, Bush, Ick shall go to bet now. De man dose rave, tinck a God, tinck a God, and bid worser lesh, de world, and the dible farewell. What is't you sea, would? Unprosperous Devil, what shall me do now. Icke sal make de most of you, that courtesy may: Aunt Marry, Mettre Faugh, stools, stools for des gallants: mine Mettre sing non oder song, frolic, frolic Sir, but still come plain me do her wrong, lighten your heart Sir, for me did but kiss her, for me did but kiss her, and so let go: Your friend is very heavy, ick shall near Like such sad company. Lie with you, Oh no, you men will out-lie any woman, f I me no more can love. Shall I, or can I trust again? Oh fool, How natural 'tis for us to be abused! Shall ick be sure that no satiety, No inoying, not time shall languish your affection? Will you do one ting for me? No, no, did you ever hear of any that loud at the first sighed? Vel, had ick not made a vow. I do not love Freeuil. So long as Freeuil lives, I must not love. Farewell, Now does my heart swell high, for my re venge, Has birth and form, first friend all kill his friend, He that survives, i'll hang, besides'de Chaste Beatrice isle vex only de ring. That God the world shall know the worst of evils. "Woman corrupted is the of devils. Exit Fran. It is, it is vile woman, reprobate wowan, naughty woman it is, what sal become of mine poor flesh now, mine bod die must turn Turk for 2. worser. Oh Diuela, life a mine art, Ick shall be revenged, do ten thousand Hell dam me, Ick sal have the rouge trote cut, and his love, and his friend, and all his affinity shall smart, shall die, sal hang, now legion of devil seize him, de gran pest, S. Anthony's fire, and de hight Neopolitan poc rot him. By mine trot, he been very sad, what ail you sir. Pray ye prove a man of fashion, and neglect the neg lected. Will I? how hard 'tis for true love to dissemble, I am one lie yours. My vow, not until he be dead, Which that I may be sure not to infringe, Dis token of his death, shall satisfy, He has a ring, as deer as the air to him, His new loves gift: tat God and brought to me. I shall assured your pofessed rest. Very velcom, mine san, Ick shall re ome presently, now sal me be revange ten tousant deula, der shall be no God in me but passion, no taught but rage, no mercy but blood, no spirit but Diula in me, Dear sal noting taught good for me, But that is mischievous for others. Exit Sir mine speech is to you, you vile. Grand Grincome on your sentences, Gods sacrament, ten towsand devils take you, you would brought mine love, mine ho nor, mine Body all to noting. Foutra Pon you Vitch, Bawd, Polecat, Paugh, did not you praise Freeuill to mine love? So get thee gone, never more behold min eyes by thee made wretched. Oh vile man, what do you tinck on me, do you take me to be a beast, a creature that for sense only will entertain love, and not only for love, love? Oh brutish abomination! Will I? deer, deer breast, by this most zealous kiss, but I will not persuade you: but if you hate him that I loath most deadly, yet as you please, i'll persuade noting. By to Lord? Will you marry forsooth? Hah, good morrow gentle Sir, endeavour to forget me, as I must be inforced to forget all lmen. Sweet mind rest in you. You do not love me, I hear of Sir Hubert Subboys daughter Mistress Beatrice, Gods Sacrament, ick could scratch out her eyes, and suck the holes. Mettres? would, would, would. Give me reason to affect you, will you swear you love me. Must. Yes, yes, but ick do not love dis same Freeuill. Nay I do hate him. By this kiss I hate him. Ick vil not speak, torture, torture your fill, For me am worse then hanged, me would lost my will. Exit. Shall I not would de ring? Oh let me forget it, it makes us both despair. Go to your new Blouze, your vnproude sluttery, your modest Mettre forsooth. Nay good Naunt, you'll help me to and oder love, vil you not? Gods sacramant. Pox.