Phil. Nay, take thy pleasure of her.
Ver. Of cloth of Tissew I can fit ye (Madam)
My Lords, stand out o'th' light, a curious body,
The neatest body in Spain this day: with embroidered flow'rs,
A clinquant Petticoat of some rich stuffe,
To catch the eye: I have a thousand fashions.
O sleeve, O sleeve: I'll study all night (Madam)
To magnifie your sleeve.
Otr. Do, superstitious Tailor,
When ye have more time.
Flo. Make me no more then woman,
And I am thine.
Otr. Sir, haply my Wardrobe with your help
May fit her instantly: will you try her?
Ver. If I fit her not, your Wardrobe cannot.
But if the fashion be not there, you marre her.
Enter Antonio, Constable, Officers.
Ant. Is my offence so great, ere I be convict,
To be torn with Rascals? If it be Law,
Let 'em be wild horses rather than these.
Phil. What's that?
Con. This is a man suspected of murther, if it please your Grace.