[711] 52 me!—Enter Fitzdottrel, Everill, and Plutarchus. G || h’is] He’s 1716, f.
Act. IV. Scene. VIJ.
Wittipol. Miſtreſſe Fitz-dottrel. Manly.
Mere-craft. Fitz-dottrell. Everill.
Plvtarchvs.
Fit. Madame, I haue a ſuit to you; and afore-hand, I doe beſpeake you; you muſt not deny me, I will be graunted.
Wit. Sir, I muſt know it, though.
Fit. No Lady; you muſt not know it: yet, you muſt too. For the truſt of it, and the fame indeed, 5 Which elſe were loſt me. I would vfe your name, But in a Feoffment: make my whole eſtate Ouer vnto you: a trifle, a thing of nothing, Some eighteene hundred.
Wit. Alas! I vnderſtand not Thoſe things Sir. I am a woman, and moſt loath, 10 To embarque my ſelfe—
Fit. You will not ſlight me, Madame?
Wit. Nor you’ll not quarrell me?
Fit. No, ſweet Madame, I haue Already a dependance; for which cauſe I doe this: let me put you in, deare Madame, I may be fairely kill’d.