_Enter an olde Captaine, with a crew of Citizens_, _leading_ PHARAMONT
_prisoner_.
CAP. Come my brave Mermedons, fal on, let your caps swarm, & your
nimble tongues forget your gibrish, of what you lack, and
set your mouthes ope' children, till your pallats fall
frighted halfe a fathom past the cure of bay-salt & grosse
pepper; and then crie _Phylaster_, brave _Phylaster_. Let
_Phylaster_ be deep in request, my ding-a-dings, my paire
of deare Indentures: King of clubs, the your cut-water-
chamlets, and your painting: let not your hasty silkes,
deerly belovers of Custards & Cheescakes, or your branch
cloth of bodkins, or your tyffenies, your robbin-hood
scarlet and Johns, tie your affections in durance to
your shops, my dainty duckers, up with your three pil'd
spirit's, that rightvalourous, and let your accute colours
make the King to feele the measure of your mightinesse;
Phylaster, cry, myrose nobles, cry.
OMNES. _Phylaster_, _Phylasier_.
CAP. How doe you like this, my Lord prisoner?
These are mad boyes I can tell you,
These bee things that will not strike top-sayle to a Foyst,
And let a Man of warre, an Argosea,
Stoope to carry coales.
PHAR. Why, you damn'd slaves, doe you know who I am?
CAP. Yes, my pretie Prince of puppits, we do know, and give you
gentle warning, you talke no more such bugs words, lest
that sodden Crowne should be scracht with a musket; deare
Prince pippin, I'le have you codled, let him loose my
spirits, and make a ring with your bils my hearts: Now let
mee see what this brave man dares doe: note sir, have at
you with this washing blow, here I lie, doe you huffe
sweete Prince? I could hock your grace, and hang you
crosse leg'd, like a Hare at a Poulters stall; and do thus.