And you do, chill ne'er see you, nor any of yours,
while chill have eyes open: what, do you think, chil be
abaffled up and down the town for a messell and a
scoundrel? no, chy vor you: zirrah, chil come; zay no
more, chil come, tell him.
FATHER.
Well, sir, my Master deserves not this of you,
And that you'll shortly find.
[Exit.]
LANCELOT.
No matter, he's an unthrift; I defy him.
Now, gentle son, let me know the place.
OLIVER.
No, chy vore you.
LANCELOT.
Let me see the note.
OLIVER.
Nay, chill watch you for zutch a trick. But if che meet
him, zoe, if not, zoe: chill make him know me, or chill
know why I shall not, chill vare the worse.
LANCELOT.
What, will you then neglect my daughter's love?
Venture your state and hers, for a loose brawl?
OLIVER.
Why, man, chill not kill him; marry, chill veze him too,
and again; and zoe God be with you, vather. What, man,
we shall meet tomorrow.
[Exit.]
LANCELOT.
Who would a thought he had been so desperate.
Come forth, my honest servant Artichoke.
[Enter Artichoke.]
ARTICHOKE.
Now, what's the matter? some brawl toward, I warrant you.
LANCELOT.
Go get me thy sword bright scoured, thy buckler mended.
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