Sub.Would I were hang'd then? I'll conform myself.
Dol.Will you, sir? do so then, and quickly: swear.
Sub.What should I swear?
Dol.To leave your faction, sir,
And labour kindly in the common work.
Sub.Let me not breathe if I meant aught beside.
I only used those speeches as a spur
To him.
Dol.I hope we need no spurs, sir. Do we?
Face.'Slid, prove to-day, who shall shark best.
Sub.Agreed.
Dol.Yes, and work close and friendly.
Sub.'Slight, the knot
Shall grow the stronger for this breach, with me.[They shake hands.]
Dol.Why, so, my good baboons! Shall we go make
A sort of sober, scurvy, precise neighbours,
That scarce have smiled twice since the king came in,[1]
A feast of laughter at our follies? Rascals,
Would run themselves from breath, to see me ride,[2]
Or you t' have but a hole to thrust your heads in,
For which you should pay ear-rent? No, agree.
And may don Provost ride a feasting long,
In his old velvet jerkin and stain'd scarfs,
My noble sovereign, and worthy general,
Ere we contribute a new crewel garter
To his most worsted worship.[3]
Page:The Works of Ben Jonson - Gifford - Volume 4.djvu/26
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22
THE ALCHEMIST.