I neede not feare, death cannot offer wrong; The majestie of thy presaging face, Would vanquish him, though nere so terrible.

I deny it still: good drinke makes good bloud, Good blood needes no Barber, Ergo, tis good to drinke good drinke.

let such as will needes barke at the Moone, yell till their hearts ake:

I am Phylautus,[310] he that must needes confesse, he was drunk in your companies last day; sweet Gentlemen, conceive me aright. Accut.

That feare he neede no force of enemie.

To returne alone, you neede not sir, Here is one will beare you company.