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.