Neece. Say he be black, he's of a very good pitch,
Well ankled, two good confident calves, they look
As if they would not shrink at the ninth child;
The redness i'th face, why that's in fashion,
Most of your high bloods have it, sign of greatness marry;
'Tis to be taken down too with May-butter,
I'll send to my Lady Spend-tail for her Medicine.
Sir Gr. Lum te dum, dum, dum, de dum.
Neece. He's qualified too, believe me.
Sir Gr. Lum te dum, de dum, de dum.
Neece. Where was my judgement?
Sir Gr. Lum te dum, dum, dum, te dum, te dum.
Neece. Perfections cover'd mess.
Sir Gr. Lum te dum, te dum, te dum.
Neece. It smoaks apparantly, pardon sweet Sir,
The error of my Sex.
Old K. Why, well aid Neece,
Upon submission you must pardon her now, Sir.