fingers for nothing.

SOG. That's not so good, methinks.

CAR. Why, after you have kept them a fortnight, or so, and shew'd them
enough to the world, you may turn them away, and keep no more but a boy,
it's enough.

SOG. Nay, my humour is not for boys, I'll keep men, an I keep any; and
I'll give coats, that's my humour: but I lack a cullisen.

CAR. Why, now you ride to the city, you may buy one; I'll bring you where
you shall have your choice for money.

SOG. Can you, sir?

CAR. O, ay: you shall have one take measure of you, and make you a coat
of arms to fit you, of what fashion you will.

SOG. By word of mouth, I thank you, signior; I'll be once a little
prodigal in a humour, i'faith, and have a most prodigious coat.

MAC. Torment and death! break head and brain at once,
To be deliver'd of your fighting issue.
Who can endure to see blind Fortune dote thus?
To be enamour'd on this dusty turf,
This clod, a whoreson puck-fist! O G----!
I could run wild with grief now, to behold
The rankness of her bounties, that doth breed
Such bulrushes; these mushroom gentlemen,