] There's no avoiding it.
_Rut_. And there's the scaffold where she must lose it.
[_Char_.] The bed Sir.
_Rut_. No way to wipe his mouldy chaps?
_Char_. That we know.
_Rut_. To any honest well-deserving fellow,
And 'twere but to a merry Cobbler, I could sit still now,
I love the game so well; but that this puckfist,
This universal rutter--fare ye well Sir;
And if you have any good prayers, put 'em forward,
There may be yet a remedie.
_Char_. I wish it, [_Exit_ Rut.
And all my best devotions offer to it.
_Enter_ Clodio, _and_ Guard.
_Clod_. Now is this tye dispatch'd?
_Char_. I think it be Sir.
_Clod_. And my bed ready?
_Char_. There you may quickly find Sir,
Such a loath'd preparation.
_Clod_. Never grumble,
Nor fling a discontent upon my pleasure,
It must and shall be done: give me some wine,
And fill it till it leap upon my lips: [_wine_
Here's to the foolish maidenhead you wot of,
The toy I must take pains for.
_Char_. I beseech your Lordship
Load not a Fathers love.
_Clod_. Pledge it _Charino_,
Or by my life I'le make thee pledge thy last,
And be sure she be a maid, a perfect Virgin,
(I will not have my expectation dull'd)
Or your old pate goes off.
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