Till Cupid distinguished like Jonas the drawer,
From under his apron, where his lechery lurks,
Put love in her sack. Now mark how it works.
Pup. Hero. O Leander, Leander, my dear, my dear Leander,
I’ll for ever be thy goose, so thou’lt be my gander.
Cokes. Excellently well said, Fiddle, she’ll ever be his goose, so he’ll be her gander; was’t not so?
Leath. Yes, sir, but mark his answer now.
Pup. Lean. And sweetest of geese, before I go to bed,
I’ll swim over the Thames, my goose, thee to tread.