Enter Miranda, Norandine, Servants with Lights.
Mir. I'll see you in your chamber. [A Table out, two stools.
Nor. Pray ye no farther:
It is a ceremony I expect not,
I am no stranger here, I know my lodging,
An[d] have slept soundly there, when the Turks Cannon
Playd thick upon't: O 'twas Royal Musick,
And to procure a sound sleep for a Souldier,
Worth forty of [y]our Fiddles. As you love me
Press it no farther.
Mir. You will overcome.
Wait on him carefully.
Nor. I have took since supper
A rouse or two too much, and by ——
It warms my blood.
Mir. You'll sleep the better for't.
Nor. —— on't, I should, had but I a kind wench
To pull my Boot-hose off, and warm my night-cap,
There's no charm like it: I love old Adams way;
Give me a diligent Eve, to wait towards bed-time,
Hang up your smooth chin page: and now I think on't,
Where is your Turkish Prisoner?
Mir. In the Castle,
But yet I never saw her.
Nor. Fie upon you:
See her for shame; or hark ye, if you would
Perform the friends part to me, the friends part,
It being a fashion of the last edition,
Far from panderism, now send her to me;
You look strange on't, no entertainment's perfect
Without it on my word; no livery like it;
[I'll tell her, he lookes for it as duly
As for his fee;] there's no suit got without it,
Gold is an ass to't.