OLIVER.
Zirrah, zirrah, if it were not vor shame, chee would a
given thee zutch a whisterpoop under the ear, chee
would a made thee a vanged an other at my feet: stand
aside, let me loose, cham all of a vlaming fire-brand;
Stand aside.

FLOWERDALE.
Well, I forbear you for your friend's sake.

OLIVER.
A vig for all my vrens! doest thou tell me of my vrens?

LANCELOT.
No more, good master Oliver; no more,
Sir Arthur. And, maiden, here in the sight
Of all your suitors, every man of worth,
I'll tell you whom I fainest would prefer
To the hard bargain of your marriage bed.--
Shall I be plain among you, gentlemen?

ARTHUR.
Aye, sir, tis best.

LANCELOT.
Then, sir, first to you:--
I do confess you a most gallant knight,
A worthy soldier, and an honest man:
But honesty maintains not a french-hood,