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Scæne 8.
Enter Petruchio, Antonio, and 2. Gent.Petr.
He will sure come. Are yee well arm'd?
Ant.
Never feare us.
Here's that will make 'em dance without a Fiddle.
Petr.
We are to look for no weak foes, my friends,
Nor unadvised ones.
Ant.
Best gamsters make the best game,
We shall fight close and handsome then.
1 Gent.
Antonio,
You are a thought too bloudy.
Ant.
Why? all Physitians
And penny Almanacks allow the opening
Of veines this moneth: why doe ye talke of bloudy?
What come we for, to fall to cuffes for apples?
What, would ye make the Cause a Cudgell quarell?
On what termes stands this man? is not his honour
Open'd to his hand, and pickt out like an Oyster?
His credit like a quart pot knockt together.
Able to hold no liquor? cleare but this point.
Petr.
Speak softly, gentle Couzen.
Ant.
Ile speak truely;
What should men doe ally'd to these disgraces,
Lick o're his enemie, sit downe, and dance him?
2.
You are as farre o'th' bow hand now.
Ant.
And crie;
That's my fine boy, thou wilt doe so no more child.
Pet.
Here are no such cold pitties.
4
By Saint Jaques
They shall not finde me one: here's old tough Andrew,
A speciall friend of mine, and he but hold,
Ile strike 'em such a horne-pipe: knocks I come for,
And the best bloud I light on; I profes it,
Not to scarre Coster-mongers; If I loose mine owne,
Mine audits lost, and fare-well five and fifty.
Pet.
Let's talke no longer, place your selves with silence,
As I directed yee; and when time calls us,
As ye are friends, so shew your selves.
Ant.
So be it.
Exeunt.
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