The Little French Lawyer Part 19

_Cler._ You must uncase too.

_Sam._ Yes, Sir.

But tell me this, why should I mix mine honour With a fellow, that has ne're a lace in's shirt?

_Gent._ That's a main point, my friend has two.

_Cler._ That's true, Sir.

_La-w._ Base and degenerate Cousin, dost not thou know An old, and tatter'd colours, to the enemy, Is of more honour, and shews more ominous?

This shirt, five times, victorious I have fought under, And cut through squadrons of your curious cut-works, As I will do through thine, shake, and be satisfied.

_Cler._ This is unanswerable.

_Sam._ But may I fight with a foul shirt?

_Gent._ Most certain, so it be a fighting shirt, Let it be ne're so foul, or lowsie, _Caesar_ wore such a one.

_Sam._ Saint _Denis_ then: I accept your shirt.

_Cler._ Not so forward, first you must talk, 'Tis a main point, of the French method, Talk civilly, and make your cause Authentick.

_Gent._ No weapon must be near you, nor no anger.

_Cler._ When you have done, then stir your resolutions, Take to your Weapons bravely.

_La-writ._ 'Tis too cold; This for a Summer fight.

_Cler._ Not for a world you should transgress the rules.

_Sam._ 'Tis pievish weather, I had rather fight without.

_Gent._ An 'twere in a River.

_Cler._ Where both stood up to th' chins.

_La-writ._ Then let's talk quickly, Pl---- o' this circ.u.mstance.

_Cler._ Are the Horses come yet?

_Gent._ Yes certain: give your swords to us, now civilly.

_Cler._ We'll stand a while off; take the things, and leave 'em, You know when, and let the children play: This is a dainty time of year for puppies, Would the old Lord were here.

_Gent._ He would dye with laughter.

_Cler._ I am sorry I have no time to see this game out, Away, away.

_Gent._ Here's like to be a hot fight, Call when y'are fit. [_Ex._ Cler. _and Gent._

_La-writ._ Why look you Sir, you seem to be a Gentleman, And you come in honour of your Uncle, boh, boh, 'tis very cold; Your Uncle has offer'd me some few affronts, Past flesh and blood to bear: boh, boh, wondrous cold.

_Sam._ My Lord, mine Uncle, is an honourable man, And what he offers, boh, boh, cold indeed, Having made choice of me, an unworthy kinsman, Yet take me with you: boh, boh, pestilence cold, Not altogether.

_La-writ._ Boh, boh, I say altogether.

_Sam._ You say you know not what then? boh, boh, Sir.

_La-writ._ Sir me with your sword in your hand; You have a scurvy Uncle, you have a most scurvy cause, And you are--boh, boh.

_Sam._ Boh, boh, what?

_La-writ._ A s.h.i.tten scurvy Cousin.

_Samp._ Our Swords; our Swords; Thou art a Dog, and like a Dog, our Swords.

_La-w._ Our weapons Gentlemen: ha? where's your second?

_Sam._ Where's yours?

_La-writ._ So ho; our weapons.

_Sam._ Wa, ha, ho, our weapons; Our Doublets and our weapons, I am dead.

_La-w._ First, second, third, a pl---- be wi' you Gentlemen.

_Sam._ Are these the rules of honour? I am starv'd.

_La-w._ They are gone, and we are here; what shall we do?

_Sam._ O for a couple of f.a.ggots.

_La-w._ Hang a couple of f.a.ggots.

Dar'st thou take a killing cold with me?

_Sam._ I have it already.

_La-w._ Rogues, Thieves, boh, boh, run away with our Doublets?

To fight at Buffets now, 'twere such a May-game.

_Sam._ There were no honour in't, pl---- on't, 'tis scurvy.

_La-w._ Or to revenge my wrongs at fisty-cuffes.

_Sam._ My Lord, mine Uncles cause, depend on Boxes?

_La-w._ Let's go in quest, if we ever recover 'em.

_Sam._ I, come, our Colds together, and our Doublets.