¶Prince Saturne and Venus this yeere in coniunction? what
¶saies th'Almanacke to that?
1290Poyns And look whether the fierie Trigon his man be not
¶li
sping to his ma
ster, old tables, his note booke, his coun
sel kee-
¶Falst. Thou do
st giue me flattering bu
sses.
¶Dol By my troth I ki
sse thee with a mo
st con
stant heart.
¶Falst. I am old, I am old.
¶Dol. I loue thee better then I loue, ere a
scuruy yong boy of
¶Fal. What
stuffe wilt haue a kirtle of? I
shall receiue mony
1300a thur
sday,
shalt haue a cap to morrow: a merry
song, come it
¶growes late, weele to bed, thou't forget me when I am gone.
¶Dol By my troth thou't
set me a weeping and thou
sai
st
so,
1305proue that euer I dre
sse my
selfe hand
some til thy returne, wel
¶Fal. Some
sacke Francis.
¶Prince, Poynes Anon anon
sir.
¶Falst. Ha? a ba
stard
sonne of the Kings? and arte not thou
¶Prince Why thou globe of
sinfull continents, what a life
¶Falst. A better then thou, I am a gentleman, thou art a
1315Prince Very true
sir, and I come to drawe you out by the
¶Host. O the Lord pre
serue thy grace: by my troth welcom
¶to London, now the Lord ble
sse that
sweete face of thine, O
¶Ie
su, are you come from Wales?
1320Falst. Thou hor
son madde compound of maie
stie, by this
¶light, fle
sh, and corrupt bloud, thou art welcome.
¶Doll How? you fat foole I
scorne you.
¶Poynes My lorde, he will driue you out of your reuenge,
¶and turne all to a meriment if you take not the heate.
¶Prince You hor
son candlemine you, how vildly did you
¶speake of me now, before this hone
st, vertuous, ciuill gentle-
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