Phil. Fear not, I'll run your own way: and to help you,
Love havi[n]g rackt your passions beyond counsel:
I'll hazard mine own fame: whither shall we venture?
Theo. Alas, I know not Sir!
Phil. Come, 'tis bright morning
Let's walk out, and consider: you'll keep this habit.
Theo. I would Sir.
Phil. Then it shall be: what must I call ye?
Come, do not blush: pray speak, I may spoil all else.
Theo. Pray call me Theodoro.
Enter Diego.
Dieg. Are ye ready?
The day draws on apace: once more good morrow.
Theo. Good morrow gentle Host: now I must thank ye:
Phil. Who dost thou think this is?