er, my young puissant Knight, and may thy
back Sword bite them to the bone that love thee not, thou art an errant
man, go on. The circumcis'd shall fall by thee. Let Land and labour fill
the man that tills, thy sword must be thy plough, and _Jove_ it speed.
_Mecha_ shall sweat, and _Mahomet_ shall fall, and thy dear name fill up
his monument.

_Yo. L._ It shall Captain, I mean to be a Worthy.

_Cap._ One Worthy is too little, thou shalt be all.

_Mor._ Captain I shall deserve some of your love too.

_Capt._ Thou shalt have heart and hand too, noble _Morecraft_, if them
wilt lend me mony. I am a man of Garrison, be rul'd, and open to me those
infernal gates, whence none of thy evil Angels pass again, and I will
stile thee noble, nay _Don Diego_. I'le woo thy _Infanta_ for thee, and my
Knight shall feast her with high meats, and make her apt.

_Mor._ Pardon me Captain, y'are beside my meaning.

_Young Lo._ No Mr. _Morecraft_, 'tis the Captains meaning I should prepare
her for ye.

_Capt._ Or provok her. Speak my modern man, I say provoke her.

_Poet._ Captain, I say so too, or stir her to it. So say the Criticks.

_Young Lo._ But howsoever you expound it sir, she's very welcom, and this
shall serve for witness. And Widow, since y'are come so happily, you shall
deliver up the keyes, and free possession of this house, whilst I stand by
to ratifie.

_Wid._ I had rather give it back again believe me, 'Tis a miserie to say
you had it. Take heed?

_Young Lo._ 'Tis past that Widow, come, sit down, some wine there, there
is a scurvie banquet if we had it. All this fair house is yours Sir
_Savil_?

_Savil._ Yes Sir.

_Young Lo._ Are your keyes readie, I must ease your burden.

_Sav._ I am readie Sir to be undone, when you shall call me to't.

_Young Lo._ Come come, thou shalt live better.

_Sav._ I shall have less to doe, that's all, there's half a dozen of my
friends i'th' fields sunning against a bank, with half a breech among 'em,
I shall be with 'em shortly. The care and continuall vexation of being
rich, eat up this rascall. What shall become of my poor familie, they are
no sheep, and they must keep themselves.

_Young Lo._ Drink Master _Morecraft_, pray be merrie all:
Nay and you will not drink there's no societie,
Captain speak loud, and drink: widow, a word.

_Cap._ Expou[n]d her throughly Knight. Here God o' gold, here's to thy
fair possessions; Be a Baron and a bold one: leave off your tickling of