Not for the Soldans crown, sir.
_Scil_. Indeede yee shall, by this bright horison ye shall; beleeve me,
if I sweare, I think myself beholding for I know it to be no common
oath.
_Serv_. Were it common it past not these doores; Sir, I shift my oathes,
as I wash my hands, twice in the artificial day; for in dialoguising,
tis to be observ'd, your sentences, must ironically, metaphorically, and
altogether figuratively, [be] mixt with your morning oathes.
_Scil_. Faith, tis verie true.
_Accu_. That he neither knowes what he saies nor thou understandest.
_Serv_. As for example, by this illuminate welkin.
_Scil_. Oh excellent! it shall be downe to.
_Accut_. There's another Ducket. He utters his oathes apace.
Sure this Villaine has no soule, and for gold
Heele damn his body too, hee's at peace with hell
And brings his Merchandise from thence to sell.
_Boy_. I have heere two Mistresses, but if the best were chosen out, if
_Poliphemus_ tother eye were out his choice might be as good as _Argus_
broade waking, so difficult is the difference.
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