The tears of true affection, woe is me,
Oh cursed love that glories in maids miseries,
And true mens broken hearts.
La. Alas I pity him, the wench is rude, and knows you not, forgive her.
Ma. Wy[n]e your nyes [p]ray you, though was porn in Walls 'mong craggy rocks, and mountains, yet heart is soft, look you hur can weep too, when hur see men mage prinie tears and lamentations.
Ha. How hard she holds me!
Just as Maria did, weeps the same drops,
Now as I have a living soul, her si[gh] too;
What shall I think, is not your name Maria,
If it be not, delude me with so much charity
To say it is.
Ma. Upon her life, you was mighty deal in love with some podies, your pale seekes and hollow nyes, and pantings upon her posom, know very well, because look you, her think her honest sentilman, you sall call her Maria.
Ha. Good Madam, think not ill I am thus saucy.
La. Oh no Sir, be you not angry with the wench.
Ha. I am most pleas'd.
1. Lets interrupt him, he'll be mad outright else.