ROB. Madam, as a lieger to solicit for your absent love.
LADY F. Walk in the garden; I will follow you, I'faith, i'faith, you are a noble wag.
ROB. An honourable wag and waggish earl, Even what you will, sweet lady, I must bear, Hoping of patience profit will ensue, That you will bear the Prince as I bear you.
LADY F. Well said, well said, I'll have these toys amended, Go, will you walk into the garden, sir?
ROB. But will you promise me to bring no maids, To set upon my little manship there? You threat'ned whipping, and I am in fear.
LADY F. Upon my word, I'll bring none but myself.
ROB. You see I am weapon'd, do not, I beseech thee.[477] I'll stab them, come there twenty, ere they breech me. [_Exit_.
LADY F. This youth and Richard think me easily won; But Marian rather will embrace The bony carcase of dismaying death, Than prove unchaste to noble Fauconbridge. Richard,[478] King Henry's son, is light, Wanton, and loves not humble modesty, Which makes me (much contrary to my thoughts) Flatter his humour for my brother's safety, But I protest I'll dwell among the dead, Ere I pollute my sacred nuptial bed. [_Exit_.
GLO. Porter, what, porter, where's this drowsy ass?
POR. Who calls? my Lord of Gloucester all alone?
GLO. Alone, and have your wisdom's company! Pray, where's the stammering chatterer, your son? He's ever running; but he makes small haste. I'll bring his lither legs in better frame, And if he serve me thus another time-- [_Knock within_. Hark, sir, your clients knock; and't be your pye, Let him[479] vouchsafe to chatter us some news, Tell him we dance attendance in our chamber. [_Exit_ PORTER. This John and Henry are so full of hate, That they will have my head by some device, Gloster hath plotted means for an escape, And if it fadge,[480] why so; if not, then well. The way to heaven is death, this life's a hell.
POR. Why should the watchman come along with thee?
SKINK. There's such, a que-question for yon s-same r-rogue; Skink, p-plague keep [me] far enough from him, that a-an-honest f-fellow ca-can-not w-w-walk the streets.
POR. Well, sir, dispatch your business with the earl; He's angry at your stay, I tell ye that. [_Exit_.
SKINK. 'Sblood, what a frown this Gloster casts at me; I hope he means to lend me no more cuffs, Such as he paid me at the Parliament. [_Aside_.