Let's ride to London and prevent their match,
By promising your daughter to that lovely lad.

LANCELOT.
We'll ride to London:--or it shall not need,
We'll cross to Dedfort-strand, and take a boat.
Where be these knaves? what, Artichoke? what, Fop?

[Enter Artichoke.]

ARTICHOKE.
Here be the very knaves, but not the merry knaves.

LANCELOT.
Here, take my cloak, I'll have a walk to Dedford.

ARTICHOKE.
Sir, we have been scouring of our swords and bucklers
in your defence.

LANCELOT.
Defence me no defence! let your swords rust, I'll have no
fighting: Aye, let blows alone; bid Delia see all things be
in readiness against the wedding. We'll have two at once,
and that will save charges, Master Weathercock.

ARTICHOKE.
Well, we will do it, sir.

[Exit Omnes.]