Cun. The fool makes mirth i'faith,
I would hear some.
Guard. Come, you shall hear none but me.
Nee. Come hither, friend, nay, come nearer me; did
Thy Master send thee to me? he may be wise,
But did not shew it much in that; men sometimes
May wrong themselves unawares, when they least think on't;
Was Vulcan ever so unwise to send Mars
To be his spokesman, when he went a wooing?
Send thee? hey-ho, a pretty rowling eye.
Clow. I can turn up the white and the black too, and need be forsooth.
Nee. Why, here's an amor[o]us nose.
[Clow.] You see the worst of my nose, forsooth.
Nee. A cheek, how I could put it now in dalliance,
A pair of Lips, oh that we were uney'd,
I could suck Sugar from 'em, what a beard's here!
When will the Knight thy Master have such a
Stamp of manhood on his face? nay, do not blush.
Clow. 'Tis nothing but my flesh and blood that rises so.
Cun. 'Death, she courts the fool.
Guard. Away, away, 'tis sport, do not mind it.