_Doct_. O stay, my Lorte, me pray you on knee von staie.

_Alp_. What's the matter, Doctor?

_Doct_. O me bret be garr for haste.

_Con_. What ayles the hastie Doctor?

_Doct_. My Lort be garr he lyes falslie in his troate;
Me proove by the duell dat he be the fallce knave.

_Alp_. Who is it, man, with whom thou art so bold?

_Doct_. My Lorte, if me make my contrack of marriage, if me be not as
loose as de vide worlde, if me doe not alleadge--

_Alp_. I pray thee, man, what meanest thou?

_Doct_. Be garr, enforme your grace vot he dare I will proove by good
argument and raison dat he is de falce beggerlie Jeweller, dat I no
point marrie _Cornelia_. Vat say you now?

_Cass_. My Lord, no doubt some man hath guld the Doctor,
Supposing he should be enforste to wed her
That is my wife and ever scorned him.

_Doct_. Vat you say? de Marshan tell a me I marrie _Cornelia_ spit
my nose.