Moth. You can say well: if you be mine, wench, you must doe well too, for words are but slow workers, yet so much hope I have of you, that I'll take you, so you'll be diligent, and do your duty: how now?
Enter Alexander.
Alex. There is a messenger come from your son,
That brings you word he is return'd from travel,
And will be here this night.
Moth. Now joy upon thee for it, thou art ever
A bringer of good tidings, there, drink that:
In troth thou hast much contented me, my Son!
Lord how thou hast pleas'd me, shall I see my Son
Yet e'r I dye? take care my house be handsome,
And the new stools set out, and boughs and rushes,
And flowers for the window, and the Turky Carpet,
And the great parcel Salt, Nan, with the Cruets,
And prethee Alexander goe to the Cook,
And bid him spare for nothing, my son's come home,
Who's come with him?
Alex. I hear of none yet, but a Gentlewoman.
Moth. A Gentlewoman? what Gentlewoman?
Alex. I know not, but such a one there is, he says.
Moth. Pray God he have not cast away himself
Upon some snout-fair piece, I do not like it.
Alex. No sure, my Master has more discretion.
Moth. [Well,] be it how it will, he shall be welcome.
Sirs to your tasks, and shew this little novice
How to bestir her self, I'll sort out things. [Exit.
Madge. We will forsooth, I can tell you, my Mistriss is a stirring woman.