would not seek her daughter in
the oven, unless she had been there herself: but, good Lord, you
are knuckle-deep in dirt!--I warrant, when he was in, he swore
Walsingham[392], and chaf'd terrible for the time. [_Aside_.]
--Look, the water drops from you as fast as hops.

COOMES. What need'st thou to care, whip-her-Jenny[393],
tripe-cheeks?[394], out, you fat ass!

NICH. Good words cost nought: ill words corrupt good manners, Richard;
for a hasty man never wants woe. And I had thought you had been my
friend; but I see all is not gold that glitters; there's falsehood in
fellowship; _amicus certus in re certa cernitur_; time and truth tries
all; and 'tis an old proverb, and not so old as true, bought wit is the
best; I can see day at a little hole; I know your mind as well as though
I were within you; 'tis ill halting before a cripple: go to, you seek to
quarrel; but beware of had I wist[395]; so long goes the pot to the
water, at length it comes home broken; I know you are as good a man as
ever drew sword, or as was e'er girt in a girdle, or as e'er went on
neat's leather, or as one shall see upon a summer's day, or as e'er
look'd man in the face, or as e'er trod on God's earth, or as e'er broke
bread or drunk drink; but he is proper that hath proper conditions[396];
but be not you like the cow, that gives a good sop of milk, and casts it
down with her[397] heels; I speak plainly, for plain-dealing is a jewel,
and he that useth it shall die a beggar; well, that happens in an hour,
that happens not in seven years; a man is not so soon whole as hurt; and
you should kill a man, you would kiss his--well, I say little, but I
think the more. Yet I'll give him good words; 'tis good to hold a candle
before the devil; yet, by God's dine[398], I'll take no wrong, if he had
a head as big as Brass[399], or look'd as high as Paul's steeple.
[_Aside_.]

COOMES. Sirrah, thou grasshopper, that shalt skip from my sword as from a
scythe; I'll cut thee out in collops and eggs, in steaks, in slic'd beef,
and fry thee with the fire I shall strike from the pike of thy buckler.

NICH. Ay, Brag's a good dog; threat'ned folks live long.

COOMES. What say ye, sir?

NICH. Why, I say not so much as, How do ye?

COOMES. Do ye not so, sir?

NICH. No, indeed, whatsoe'er I think; and thought is free.

COOMES. You whoreson wafer-cake, by God's dines, I'll crush ye for this!

NIC