_Val._ There's the way _Frank_, and in the tail of these,
fright me the Kingdom with a sharp Prognostication, that shall scowr
them, Dearth upon Dearth, like leven Taffaties, predictions of
Sea-breaches, Wars, and want of Herrings on our Coast, with bloudy
Noses.

_Lan._ Whirl-winds, that shall take off the top of _Grantham_
Steeple, and clap it on _Pauls_, and after these, a Lenvoy to the
City for their sins.

_Val._ _Probatum est_, thou canst not want a pension, go
switch me up a Covey of young Scholars, there's twenty nobles, and two
loads of Coals, are not these ready wayes? Cosmography thou art deeply
read in, draw me a Map from the Mermaid, I mean a midnight Map to scape
the Watches, and such long sensless examinations, and Gentlemen shall
feed thee, right good Gentlemen, I cannot stay long.

_Lan._ You have read learnedly, and would you have him follow these
Megera's, did you begin with Ballads?

_Fran._ Well, I will leave you, I see my wants are grown
ridiculous, yours may be so, I will not curse you neither; you may
think, when these wanton fits are over, who bred me, and who ruined me,
look to your self, Sir, a providence I wait on.

_Val._ Thou art passionate, hast thou been brought up with Girls?

_Enter_ Shorthose _with a bag_.

_Short._ Rest you merry, Gentlemen.