[Otr. Nor play the childish fool, and marry ye,
I am yet not mad.
Flo. If ye did, men would imagine.]
Otr. Nor will I woo ye at that infinite price
It may be you expect.
Flo. I expect your pardon,
And a discharge (my Lord) that's all I look for.
Otr. No, nor fall sick for love.
Flo. 'Tis a heathful year Sir.
Otr. Look ye, I'll turn ye out o'dores, and scorn ye.
Flo. Thank ye my Lord.
Otr. A proud slight Peat I found ye,
A fool (it may be too.)
Flo. An honest woman,
Good my Lord think me.