SCENE II. _A Street.

_Enter_ FUSTIGO, CRAMBO, _and_ POH.

_Fus._ Hold up your hands, gentlemen, here’s one, two, three [_Giving money_]--nay, I warrant they are sound pistoles, and without flaws; I had them of my sister and I know she uses to put up nothing that’s cracked--four, five, six, seven, eight and nine; by this hand bring me but a piece of his blood, and you shall have nine more. I’ll lurk in a tavern not far off, and provide supper to close up the end of the tragedy: the linen-draper’s, remember. Stand to’t, I beseech you, and play your parts perfectly.

_Cram._ Look you, signor, ’tis not your gold that we weigh--

_Fus._ Nay, nay, weigh it and spare not; if it lack one grain of corn, I’ll give you a bushel of wheat to make it up.

_Cram._ But by your favour, signor, which of the servants is it? because we’ll punish justly.

_Fus._ Marry ’tis the head man; you shall taste him by his tongue; a pretty, tall, prating fellow, with a Tuscalonian beard.

_Poh._ Tuscalonian? very good.

_Fus._ God’s life, I was ne’er so thrummed since I was a gentleman: my coxcomb was dry beaten, as if my hair had been hemp.

_Cram._ We’ll dry-beat some of them.

_Fus._ Nay, it grew so high, that my sister cried out murder, very manfully: I have her consent, in a manner, to have him peppered: else I’ll not do’t, to win more than ten cheaters do at a rifling: break but his pate, or so, only his mazer,[200] because I’ll have his head in a cloth as well as mine; he’s a linen-draper, and may take enough. I could enter mine action of battery against him, but we may’haps be both dead and rotten before the lawyers would end it.

[200] A corruption of “mazzard,” the head.

_Cram._ No more to do, but ensconce yourself i’th’ tavern; provide no great cheer, a couple of capons, some pheasants, plovers, an orangeado-pie, or so: but how bloody howsoe’er the day be, sally you not forth.

_Fus._ No, no; nay if I stir, some body shall stink: I’ll not budge: I’ll lie like a dog in a manger.

_Cram._ Well, well, to the tavern, let not our supper be raw, for you shall have blood enough, your bellyful.

_Fus._ That’s all, so God sa’ me, I thirst after; blood for blood, bump for bump, nose for nose, head for head, plaster for plaster; and so farewell. What shall I call your names? because I’ll leave word, if any such come to the bar.

_Cram._ My name is Corporal Crambo.

_Poh._ And mine, Lieutenant Poh.

_Cram._ Poh is as tall a man as ever opened oyster: I would not be the devil to meet Poh: farewell.

_Fus._ Nor I, by this light, if Poh be such a Poh. [_Exeunt._