Pi. I dare not trouble ye.
Lil. May I speak to your Lady?
Pi. I pray ye content your self: I know ye are bitter,
And in your bitterness, ye may abuse her;
Which if she comes to know, (for she understands ye not)
It may breed such a quarrel to your kindred,
And such an indiscretion fling on you too;
For she is nobly friended.
Lil. I could eat her.
Pi. Rest as ye are, a modest noble Gentlewoman,
And afford your honest neighbours some of your prayers. [Exit.
Mir. What think you now?
Lil. Faith she's a pretty Whiting;
She has got a pretty catch too.
Mir. You are angry;
Monstrous angry now; grievously angry;
And the pretty heart does swell now.
Lil. No in troth, Sir.
Mir. And it will cry anon; a pox upon it:
And it will curse it self: and eat no meat, Lady;
And it will fight.