_ The blessings of a Prodigal young heir be thy companions
_Welford_, marry come up my Gentleman, are your gums grown so tender they
cannot bite? A skittish Filly will be your fortune _Welford_, and fair
enough for such a packsaddle. And I doubt not (if my aim hold) to see her
made to amble to your hand. [_Exit Abigal._
_Enter_ Young Loveless, _and_ Comrades, Morecraft, Widow, Savil, _and the
rest._
_Captain._ Save thy brave shoulder, my young puissant Knight, and may thy
back Sword bite them to the bone that love thee not, thou art an errant
man, go on. The circumcis'd shall fall by thee. Let Land and labour fill
the man that tills, thy sword must be thy plough, and _Jove_ it speed.
_Mecha_ shall sweat, and _Mahomet_ shall fall, and thy dear name fill up
his monument.
_Yo. L._ It shall Captain, I mean to be a Worthy.
_Cap._ One Worthy is too little, thou shalt be all.
_Mor._ Captain I shall deserve some of your love too.
_Capt._ Thou shalt have heart and hand too, noble _Morecraft_, if them
wilt lend me mony. I am a man of Garrison, be rul'd, and open to me those
infernal gates, whence none of thy evil Angels pass again, and I will
stile thee noble, nay _Don Diego_. I'le woo thy _Infanta_ for thee, and my
Knight shall feast her with high meats, and make her apt.
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