Vio. Wenches away, for here are men.
Val. Fair maid, I pray you stay.
Vio. Alas, agen?
Rich. Why do you lay hold on her? I pray heartily let her go.
Val. With all my heart, I do not mean to hurt her.
Rich. But stand away then for the purest bodies
Will soonest take infection, stand away,
But for infecting her my self, by heaven,
I would come there, and beat thee further off.
Vio. I know that voice and face.
Val. You are finely mad, [g[o]dbwy] Sir, now you are here together, I'll leave [y]ou] so, god send you good luck, both; when you are soberer, you'll give me thanks. [Exit.
Madg. Wilt thou go milk? come.
Nan. Why dost not come?