PETER

Here, my Lord. Not with drink, nor yet with rage. With love surreverence? can there be a face In all the world patched up with eyes and lips, A forehead, and a pair of Crimson cheeks, To make me do at on, to make me look wild? Zounds, they that know that, know my heart & all, I have not the power to deny it, 'tis most true. Sbloud, give me a Dukedom, and isle warrant you The knowledge of these things ten times over. You have my heart in your purse, isle do any thing for you. I cannot choose but farewell, and have the good And gels to comfort me; yet I am melancholy. Heeres gold to make me merry: Oh but (heigh ho) heres love to make me sad. To avoid prolixity, I am crossed with a Suitor, that wants a piece of his tongue, and that makes him come lisping home: they call him Cavaliero Bowyer, he will have no nay, but the wench. By these hilts, such another swashbuckler lives not in the Nine quarters of the world: why, he came over with the Earl of Pembroke; and he limps, and he limps, & he devours more French ground at two paces, the ̄ will serve Thomasin at nineteen. If ever he speak French, to avoid prolixity, he will murder the tongue. I'll provide for him, theres but small choice, either he shall renounce the we ̄ changed, or forsake his lame legs, his lisping tongue, and his life to: for by S. Denis, I had rather die in a ditch, then be bobd of my fair Thomasin. Thomasin, you know me, I hate prolixity: in a word, my humour is thus, I love you. Your answer compendiously, & avoid prolixity. Thomasin, leave this pace, & take me with you: my Lord loves your Lady, yet I hear say, she is this night betro worser to the Prince of France: so I love you, and shall I loose you? No, I hate prolixity: in a word, the end is, isle marry you. Bowyer, mordu futra for him; and that sour crab do but leere at thee, I shall squeeze him to vargis. Stumps, I challenge thee for this indignity. Bowyer, I will gird my self with thy guts, I am a Soldier and a Captain. For that word, draw. Enough, 'tis done. He shall not, for isle stay him instantly. This is my waiting night, 'tis for no good, That I stand Sentronell. Well, good or ill, I care not greatly, so I get the gold: Therefore to avoid prolixity, here walk I. Here comes the men that must reward my pain. My Lord. Here is the key that opens to the Tent, I stole it from my sweet heart Thomasin. Enter without prolixity, woo and win the Lady: But give me gold (my Lord) and I'll to Dice. And it shall go as fast. I go, my Lord. My blood begins to boil, I could be pleased, To have this fellow by the ears, but that Theres many of my betters here in place. Yes, here are those can hear well enough. Where is the murdered, and the murderer? To avoid prolixity, I'll kill him: Yet first give me leave to weep for my master. You that have Nine lives, assault the gentleman. Zounds, men are mortal; to avoid prolixity, my Lord of Orleans, your best course is flying, and therein I will be your follower. Down with the villains. Down with that murderer. Struggle not, strive not, your sweet heart Bow year cannot save you. Without prolixity, you must go with me. And the God of war come in thy defence, my humour is to kill him. Come away. Bowyer a Captain? a Capon, a button mould, a lame haberdine, a read beard Sprat, a Yellow hammer, a bow case, a very Jackdaw with his tongue slit. My Lord. Presently. Cymnell, I'll crack you for this, I'll teach you to deal with Peter de Lions, and that without prolixity.