How now, gallants? what, are they ready for the barriers?
Young Lord. Yes: the lords are putting on their armour.
Hort. What 's he?
Flam. A new upstart; one that swears like a falconer, and will lie in
the duke's ear day by day, like a maker of almanacs: and yet I knew
him, since he came to th' court, smell worse of sweat than an under
tennis-court keeper.
Hort. Look you, yonder 's your sweet mistress.
Flam. Thou art my sworn brother: I 'll tell thee, I do love that Moor,
that witch, very constrainedly. She knows some of my villainy. I do
love her just as a man holds a wolf by the ears; but for fear of her
turning upon me, and pulling out my throat, I would let her go to the
devil.
Hort. I hear she claims marriage of thee.
Flam. 'Faith, I made to her some such dark promise; and, in seeking to
fly from 't, I run on, like a frighted dog with a bottle at 's tail,
that fain would bite it off, and yet dares not look behind him. Now,
my precious gipsy.
Zan. Ay, your love to me rather cools than heats.
Flam. Marry, I am the sounder lover; we have many wenches about the
town heat too fast.
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