_Serv_. I have a concupiscent forme of trust in your skil, it will
malladise.
_Citty wi_. I, feare not, put both your concupisences in me for that
matter.
_Serv_. The generous will disburse coynage for satisfaction of your
metaphisicall endevour.
_Scil_. Yes, yes, I will discharge all.
_Cittie wife_. Wee make no doubt of that; come into a chamber, ye shall
lye downe awhile; perhaps youle bee stiffe anon, then you shall use your
legges, the more you strive with it the better. Alas, good hearts!
[_Exeunt_.
_Phy_. Sol, sol, la! Tapster, give attendance! Gentlemen, I hope all we
are friends, the welkin is skie colour still, and men must grow by
degrees; you must pardon me, I must sp--speak my minde.
_Grac_. The uttermost of your minde at this time cannot be offensive.
_Phy_. _The fryer was in the_--sol, sol, draw the tother quart. I hope
you are not angrie gallants; and ye come to my lodging, ye shall be
welcome; my Hostes shall bid you welcome, shee's a good wench; if I say
the word, she wil fa--fullfill it.
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