A. I love new-laid eggs well.
S. Sirra, go cause a couple of eggs to be made readie.
R. By and by, will you have them hard or soft?
A. It is no matter, I love them better raire.
T. An egg of an hour, bread of a day, kidd of a month, wine of six, flesh of a year, fish of ten, a woman of fifteen, and a friend of a hundred, he must have that will be merrie.
S. What aileth Master T. that he looks so sad?
T. I am not very well at ease.
S. What feel you, where grieves it you?
T. I feel my stomach a little over-cloyde.