Bar. And do I stand and hear this?
Rho. This for me, Sir,
This is some comfort now: Alas my Husband—
But why do I think of so poor a fellow,
So wretched, so debauch'd?
Bar. That's I, I am bound to hear it.
Rho. I dare not lye with him, he is so rank a Whoremaster.
Lop. And that's a dangerous point.
Rho. Upon my conscience, Sir,
He would stick a thousand base diseases on me.
Bar. And now must I say nothing.
Lop. I am sound Lady.
Rho. That's it that makes me love ye.
Lop. Let's kiss again then.