La-C. Why, these are now ripe, Son.
Mir. I'll try them presently,
And if I like their taste—
La-C. 'Pray ye please your self, Sir.
Mir. That liberty is my due, and I'll maintain it:
Lady, what think you of a handsom man now?
Ros. A wholsom too, Sir.
Mir. That's as you make your Bargain.
A handsom, wholsom man then, and a kind man,
To cheer your heart up, to rejoyce you, Lady?
Ros. Yes Sir, I love rejoycing.
Mir. To lye close to you?
Close as a Cockle? keep the cold nights from you?
Ros. That will be lookt for too, our bodies ask it.
Mir. And get two Boys at every Birth?