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Scaene 3.
Why look ye now: What a strange Man are you? Would you have a Man fight at all houres all alike.
Do but fight something; but half a blow, and put thy Stomach to't: turn but thy face, and do but make Mouthes at 'em.
And have my Teeth knockt out; I thank ye heartily, ye are my dear Friend.
Faith, Sir, I make no suit for't: but rather then I would live thus out of Charity, continually in brawling—
That in the midst of thy most hellish pains, when thou wert craw∣ling sick, didst aim at wonders, when thou wert mad with pain?
Ye have found the cause out; I had ne're been mad to sight else: I confess, Sir, the daily torture of my side that vext me, made me as daily careless what became of me, till a kind Sword there wounded me, and eas'd me; 'twas nothing in my valour fought; I am well now, and take some pleasure in my life: methinks now it shews as mad a thing to me to see you 〈◊〉〈◊〉, and kill one another foolishly for Honour, as 'twas to you, to see me play the Coxcombe.
If all the Arts that are can make a Collick, therefore look to't: or if imposthumes, mark me, as big as foot-balls—
Or stones of ten pound weight i'th' kidneys through 〈◊〉〈◊〉 and ugly dyets may be gather'd; I'll feed ye up my self Sir, I'll prepare ye, you can∣not sight, unless the devil tear ye, you shall not want provocations, I'll 〈◊〉〈◊〉 ye, I'll have thee have the tooth-ach, and the head-ach.
No, no, nothing—then will I have thee blown with a pair of Smiths bellowes, because ye shall be sure to have a round gale with ye, sil'd full of oyle, o' devil, and 〈◊〉〈◊〉 fortis, and let these work, these may provok.