“Saint Chrysostom’s like to happen, an’t please you; and Mistress granted me free leave to visit a friend, if so be you lacked me not.”
“What fashion of a friend, trow? A jolly one?” Elizabeth looked a little amused.
“Scarce after your fashion, Mistress Amy.”
“What, as sad and sober as thyself?”
“Well-nigh.”
“Then I’ll not go with thee. I mean to spend Saint Chrysostom with Mary Boswell and Lucy Cheyne, and their friends: and I promise thee we shall not have no sadness nor sedateness in the company.”
“That’s very like,” answered Elizabeth.
“As merry as crickets, we shall be. Dost not long to come withal?”
“I were liefer to visit Rose, if it liked you.”
“What a shame to call a sad maid by so fair a name! Oh, thou canst go for all me. Thy company’s never so jolly I need shed tears to lose it.”