Viola. But I'll hold fast for catching of a fall.
Val. That's the next way to pull another on you, I'll work her as I go, I know shee's wax, now, now, at this time could I beget a Worthy on this Wench.
Viol. Sir, for this Gentleness, may Heaven requite you tenfold.
Val. 'Tis a good Wench, however others use thee, be sure I'll be a loving Master to thee, come. [Exeunt.
Enter Antonio like an Irish Footman, with a Letter.
Ant. I hope I am wild enough, for being known, I have writ a Letter here, and in it have abus'd my self most bitterly, yet all my fear is not enough, for that must do it, that must lay it on, I'll win her out i'th' flint, 'twill be more famous, now for my language.
Enter Servingman.
Ser. Now, Sir, Who would you speak with?
Ant. Where be thy Mastres Man? I would speak with her,
I have a Letter.
Ser. Cannot I deliver it?