[Actus Primus. Scena Prima.]
Enter 2. Serving-men, Peter and Anthony.
Peter. I would we were remov'd from this town, Anthony,
That we might taste some quiet; for mine own part,
I'm almost melted with continual trotting
After enquiries, dreams, and revelations,
Of who knows whom, or where? serve wenching soldiers,
That knows no other Paradise but Plackets:
I'll serve a Priest in Lent first, and eat Bell-ropes.
Ant. Thou art the froward'st fool—
Pet. Why, good tame Anthonie?
Tell me but this; to what end came we hither?
Ant. To wait upon our Masters.
Pet. But how, Anthony?
Answer me that; resolve me there, good Anthony?
Ant. To serve their uses.
Pet. Shew your uses, Anthony.