Thom. O sweet Alice.
Hyl. A clean instep,
And that I love a life, I did not mark
This woman half so well before, how quick
And nimble like a shadow, there her leg shew'd;
By th'mass a neat one, the colour of her Stocking,
A much inviting colour.
Alice. My good Monsieur,
I have no time to talk now.
Hyl. Pretty Breeches,
Finely becoming too.
Thom. By Heaven.
Alice. She will not,
I can assure you that, and so.
Thom. But this word.
Alice. I cannot, nor I will not, good Lord. [Exit.
Hyl. Well, you shall hear more from me.
Thom. We'll go visit,
'Tis Charity; besides, I know she is there;
And under visitation I shall see her;
Will ye along?