I
cannot tell Sir, I would be loth to see it.
_Capt._ Steward, you are an Ass, a meazel'd mungril, and were it not again
the peace of my soveraign friend here, I would break your fore-casting
Coxcomb, dog I would even with my staffe of Office there. Thy Pen and
Inkhorn Noble boy, the God of gold here has fed thee well, take mony for
thy durt: hark and believe, thou art cold of constitution, thy eat
unhealthful, sell and be wise; we are three that will adorn thee, and live
according to thine own heart child; mirth shall be only ours, and only
ours shall be the black eyed beauties of the time. Mony makes men Eternal.
_Poet._ Do what you will, 'tis the noblest course, then you may live
without the charge of people, only we four will make a Family, I and an
Age that will beget new _Annals_, in which I'le write thy life my son of
pleasure, equal with _Nero_ and _Caligula_.
_Young Lo._ What men were they Captain?
_Capt_. Two roaring Boys of _Rome_, that made all split.
_Young Lo_. Come Sir, what dare you give?
_Sav_. You will not sell Sir?
_Young Lo_. Who told you so Sir?
_Sav_. Good Sir have a care.
_Young Lo_. Peace, or I'le tack your Tongue up to your Roof. What money?
speak.
_More_. Six thousand pound Sir.
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