Why, how now, we three? Puritanical Scrape-shoes, Flesh
a good Fridays! a hand.

ALL.
Oh!

CORPORAL.
Why, Nicholas Saint-Tantlings, Simon Saint Mary Ovaries,
ha's the De'el possest you, that you swear no better? you
half-Christned Catomites, you ungod-mothered Varlets, do's
the first lesson teach you to be proud, and the second to
be Cocks-combs? proud Cocks-combs! not once to do duty to
a man of Mark!

FRAILTY.
A man of Mark, quatha! I do not think he can shew a Begger's
Noble.

CORPORAL.
A Corporal, a Commander, one of spirit, that is able to blow
you up all dry with your Books at your Girdles.

SIMON.
We are not taught to believe that, sir, for we know the
breath of man is weak.

[Corporal breathes upon Frailty.]

FRAILTY.
Foh, you lie, Nicholas; for here's one strong enough. Blow