an't please your worship, only because I spake
against their vagrant tobacco, as I came by them when they were
taking on't; for nothing else.
Clem. Ha! you speak against tobacco? Formal, his name.
Form. What's your name, sirrah?
Cob. Oliver, sir, Oliver Cob, sir.
Clem. Tell Oliver Cob he shall go to the jail, Formal.
Form. Oliver Cob, my master, justice Clement, says you shall go to
the jail.
Cob. O, I beseech your worship, for God's sake, dear master
justice!
Clem. 'Sprecious! an such drunkards and tankards as you are, come
to dispute of tobacco once, I have done: away with him!
Cob, O, good master justice! Sweet old gentleman! [To Knowell.
Know. "Sweet Oliver," would I could do thee any good!--justice
Clement, let me intreat you, sir.
Clem. What! a thread-bare rascal, a beggar, a slave that never
drunk out of better than piss-pot metal in his life! and he to
deprave and abuse the virtue of an herb so generally received in
the courts of princes, the chambers of nobles, the bowers of sweet
ladies, the cabins of soldiers!--Roger, away with him! 'Od's
precious--I say, go to.
Cob. Dear master justice, let me be beaten again, I have deserved
it: but not the prison, I beseech you.
Know. Alas, poor Oliver!
Clem. Roger, make him a warrant:--he shall not go, but I fear the
knave.
Form. Do not stink, sweet Oliver, you shall not go; my master will
give you a warrant.
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