Gower.
But why do you weare your Leeke to day?
Saint Dauies day ^note is past?

Flew.
There is occasion Captaine Gower,
Looke you why, and wherefore,
The other day looke you, Pistolles
Which you know is a man of no merites
In the worell, is come where I was the other day,
And brings bread and sault, and bids me
Eate my Leeke: twas in a place, looke you,
Where I could ^note moue no discentions:
But if I can see him, I shall tell him
A litle of my desires.

Gow.
Here a comes ^note, swelling like a Turkecocke ^note. Enter Pistoll.

Flew.
Tis no matter for his swelling, and his turkecockes.
God plesse you Antient Pistoll, you scall,
Beggerly, lowsie knaue, God plesse you.

Pist.
Ha, art thou bedlem?
Dost thou thurst base Troyan,
To haue me folde vp Parcas fatall web?
Hence, I am qualmish at the smell of Leeke.

Flew.
Antient Pistoll. I would desire you because
It doth not agree with your stomacke ^note, and your appetite ^note,
And your digestions, to eate this Leeke.

Pist.
Not for Cadwalleder and all his goates.

Flew.
There is one goate for you, ancient Pistol. He strikes him.

Pist.
Bace ^note Troyan, thou shalt dye.

Flew.
I, I know I shall dye, meane ^note time, I would
Desire you to liue and eate this Leeke.

Gower.
Inough Captaine, you haue astonisht him ^note.

Flew.
Astonisht him, by Iesu, Ile beate his head
Foure dayes, and foure nights ^note, but Ile
Make him eate some part of my Leeke.

Pist.
Well must I byte?

Flew.
I out of question or doubt, or ambiguities ^note
You must byte.

Pistol.
Good good.

Flew.
I Leekes are good, Antient Pistoll.
There ^note is a shilling ^note for you to heale your bloody coxkome.

Pist.
Me a shilling.

Flew.
If you will not take it,
I haue an other Leeke for you.

Pist.
I take thy shilling in earnest of reconing.

Flew.
If I owe you any thing, ile ^note pay you in cudgels,
You shalbe a woodmonger,
And by ^note cudgels, God bwy you ^note,
Antient Pistoll, God blesse ^note you,
And heale your broken pate.
Antient Pistoll, if you see Leekes an other time,
Mocke at them, that is all: God bwy you. Exit Flewellen.

Pist.
All hell shall stirre for this.
Doth Fortune play the huswye ^note with me now?
Is honour cudgeld from my warlike lines ^note?
Well France farwell, newes haue I certainly
That Doll is sicke. One mallydie of France,
The warres affordeth nought, home will I trug.
Bawd will I turne, and vse the slyte ^note of hand:
To England will I steale,
And there Ile steale.
And patches will I get vnto these skarres,
And sweare I gat them in the Gallia warres. Exit Pistoll.

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