Jacconot.
Well, well, Mistress St. Cecil; the money is all well enough—I object nothing to the money.
Cecilia.
Then, go your ways.
Jacconot.
My ways are your ways—a murrain on your beauties!—has your brain shot forth skylarks as your eyes do sparks?
Cecilia.
Go!—here is my purse.
Jacconot.
I'll no more of't!—I have a mind to fling back what thou'st already given me for my services.