, Bos, and Boy_.
_Phy_. _For I did but kisse her; Bos_, how lik'st thou my relish?
_Bos_. Oh sir, relish but your licour, as you doe your song, you may goe
drunke to bed any day in the weeke.
_Phy_. _Sister_,[262] _awake, close not, &c_. Does my face hold colour
still?
_Bos_. I, and you would but scaviage the pavilion of your nose.
_Gra_. I, marrie, _Accutus_, how lik'st thou this Gentlewoman Gallant?
_Accut_. A good states-man, for common-wealth of Brownists; the Rogue
hates a Church like the Counter.
_Gra_. I, and if my Ladie Argentile were dead, he wold rather live upon
almes then fall to worke.
_Accut_. So he might have tolleration.--What, shal's close with them?
_Gra_. In any case, but in some mild imbrace, for if we should continue
thus rough, we should be shunned like an Appoplex.
_Accut_. Gallants, the fortune of the day runs with ye: what all at
mumchance?[263] how is't? how is't?
_Phy_. Sir, I think twas you bestowed some abuse of me tother day.
_Accu_. Which I would wipe out of your memorie
With satisfaction of a double courtesie.
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