yet not own.

ACT 1. SCENE 1.1.

A ROOM IN LOVEWIT'S HOUSE.

ENTER FACE, IN A CAPTAIN'S UNIFORM, WITH HIS SWORD DRAWN, AND
SUBTLE WITH A VIAL, QUARRELLING, AND FOLLOWED BY DOL COMMON.

FACE. Believe 't, I will.

SUB. Thy worst. I fart at thee.

DOL. Have you your wits? why, gentlemen! for love--

FACE. Sirrah, I'll strip you--

SUB. What to do? lick figs
Out at my--

FACE. Rogue, rogue!--out of all your sleights.

DOL. Nay, look ye, sovereign, general, are you madmen?

SUB. O, let the wild sheep loose. I'll gum your silks
With good strong water, an you come.

DOL. Will you have
The neighbours hear you? will you betray all?
Hark! I hear somebody.

FACE. Sirrah--

SUB. I shall mar
All that the tailor has made, if you approach.

FACE. You most notorious whelp, you insolent slave,
Dare you do this?

SUB. Yes, faith; yes, faith.

FACE. Why, who
Am I, my mungrel? who am I?

SUB. I'll tell you.,
Since you know not yourself.

FACE. Speak lower, rogue.

SUB. Yes, you were once (time's not long past) the good,
Honest, plain, livery-three-pound-thrum, that kept
Your master's worship's house here in the Friars,
For the vacations--

FACE. Will you be so loud?

SUB. Since, by my means, translated suburb-captain.

FACE. By your means, doctor dog!

SUB. Within man's memory,
All this I speak of.

FACE. Why, I pray you, have I
Been countenanced by you, or you by me?
Do but collect, sir, where I met you first.

SUB. I do not hear well.

FACE. Not of this, I think it.
But I shall put you in mind, sir;--at Pie-corner,
Taking your meal of steam in, from cooks' stalls,
Where, like the father of hunger, you did walk
Piteously costive, with your pinch'd-horn-nose,
And your complexion of the Roman wash,
Stuck full of black and melancholic worms,
Like powder corns shot at the artillery-yard.

SUB. I wish you could advance your voice a little.

FACE. When you went pinn'd up in the several rags
You had raked and pick'd from dunghills, before day;
Your feet in mouldy slippers, for your kibes;
A felt of rug, and a thin threaden cloke,
That scarce would cover your no buttocks--

SUB. So, sir!

FACE. When all your alchemy, and your algebra,
Your minerals, vegetals, and animals,
Your conjuring, cozening, and your dozen of trades,
Could not relieve your corps with so much linen