Ma. To what, Sir?
Hyl. Your neighbour can resolve ye.
Dor. The man's foolish,
Sir, you look soberly: who is this fellow,
And where's his business?
Sam. By Heaven, thou art abus'd still.
Hyl. It may be so: Come, ye may speak now boldly,
There's none but friends, Wench.
Dor. Came ye out of Bedlam?
Alas, 'tis ill, Sir, that ye suffer him
To walk in th' open Air thus: 'twill undo him.
A pretty handsome Gentleman: great pity.
Sam. Let me not live more if thou be'st not cozen'd.
Hyl. Are not you my Wife? did not I marry you last night
At St Michaels Chapel?
Dor. Did not I say he was mad?
Hyl. Are not you Mistress Dorothy, Thomas's Sister?