[Walks aside.
Winw. Do you hear! Jack Littlewit, what business does thy pretty head think this fellow may have, that he keeps such a coil with?
Quar. More than buying of gingerbread in the cloister here, for that we allow him, or a gilt pouch in the fair?
Lit. Master Quarlous, do not mistake him; he is his master’s both-hands, I assure you.
Quar. What! to pull on his boots a mornings, or his stockings, does he?
Lit. Sir, if you have a mind to mock him, mock him softly, and look t’other way: for if he apprehend you flout him once, he will fly at you presently. A terrible testy old fellow, and his name is Waspe too.
Quar. Pretty insect! make much on him.
Waspe. A plague o’ this box, and the pox too, and on him that made it, and her that went for’t, and all that should have sought it, sent it, or brought it! do you see, sir.
Lit. Nay, good master Waspe.