Dor. Here's fine sport.
Seb. Retire you too: speak forward M. Thomas.
Tom. I will: and to the purpose; even with all Sir.
Seb. With all? that's somewhat large.
Dor. And yet you like it.
Was ever sin so glorious?
Seb. With all Thomas?
Tom. All surely Sir.
Seb. A sign thou art mine own yet,
In again all: and to your several functions. [Ex. Maids.
What say you to young Luce, my neighbours Daughter,
She was too young I take it, when you travel'd;
Some twelve years old?
Tom. Her will was fifteen Sir.
Seb. A pretty answer, to cut off long discourse,
For I have many yet to ask ye of,
Where I can choose, and nobly, hold up your finger
When ye are right: what say ye to Valeria
Whose husband lies a dying now? why two,
And in that form?