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Now I looke upon't, With those black patches it does put me in mind Of a white soule with sinns upon't, and frights me. How sell you grapes? Sis. This rudenes Is beyond the manners of a gentleman. Cou. I cannot helpe it, and I hope you thinke so. Sis. I am confirm'd that now I am forsaken, But if your passion have not drownd all reason I pray let us part civilly. Cou. Sis. Whoe's there? Cou.
I'th meane tyme I cannot choose but laugh at the device Wee have to cheat my Master; sure the Divell Is a great friend to women that love men, He doth so furnish us with quaint inventions. Presently after supper she began Her fitt othe toothach, and did counterfeit So naturally; but since she went to bed She almost rav'd by turnes: I heare her at it. La. Oh oh, whoe's there? Do.
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