_Enter_ BOUTCHER, WILLIAM SMALL-SHANKS, _and_ CONSTANTIA.
BOUT. Now leave us, boy; bless you, Captain Face.
W. SMALL. Foot, dost take us for fiddlers?
CAPT. FACE. Then turn straight. Drawer, run down the stairs, And thank the gods a gave me that great patience Not to strike you.
BOUT. Your patience, sir, is great: For you dare seldom strike. Sirrah, they say, You needs will wed the widow Taffata, _Nolens volens?_
CAPT. FACE. Do not urge my patience, Awake not fury new-rak'd up in embers! I give you leave to live.
W. SMALL. Men say y'have tricks, Y'are an admirable ape, and you can do More feats than three baboons: we must have some.
CAPT. FACE. My patience yet is great; I say, begone, My tricks are dangerous.
BOUT. That's nothing, I have brought you furniture. Come, get up Upon this table: do your feats, Or I will whip you to them; do not I know You are a lousy knave?
CAPT. FACE. How! lousy knave; Are we not English bred?
BOUT. Y'are a coward rogue, That dares not look a kitling in the face, If she but stare or mew.
CAPT. FACE. My patience yet is great: Do you bandy tropes? by Dis, I will be knight, Wear a blue coat on great Saint George's day,[417] And with my fellows drive you all from Paul's For this attempt.
BOUT. Will you yet get up? I must lash you to it.
CAPT. FACE. By Pluto, gentlemen, To do you pleasure, and to make you sport, I'll do't.
CAPT. FACE. By Jove, 'tis not for fear, But for a love I bear unto these tricks, That I perform it.
BOUT. Hold up your snout, sir: Sit handsomely; by heaven, sir, you must do it. Come, boy.
W. SMALL. No, by this good light, I'll play Him that goes with the motions.
W. SMALL. Stand back, boy, and be a spectator. Gentlemen, You shall see the strange nature of an outlandish beast, That has but two legs, bearded like a man, Nosed like a goose, and tongued like a woman, Lately brought from the land of Cataia.[418] A beast of much understanding, were it not given Too much to the love of venery. Do I not do it well?
W. SMALL. Remember, noble captain, You skip, when I shall shake my whip. Now, sir, What can you do for the great Turk? What can you do for the Pope of Rome? Hark! he stirreth not, he moveth not, he waggeth not; What can you do for the town of Geneva, sirrah?