Bacha. This fellow lyes as lightly, as if hee were in cut
Taffata.
Alas good Almanack get thee to Bed, and tell what
weather we shall have to morrow.
Leon. Widow I am come in short to be a Suiter.
Bacha. For whom?
Leon. Why by my troth, I come to wooe thee wench:
And win thee for my self: Nay, look upon me:
I have about me that will do it.
Bac. Now Heaven defend me, your Whore [you] shall never:
I thank the Gods, I have a little left me to keep me warm,
and honest: if your grace take not that, I seek no more.
Leon. I am so far from taking any thing, I'll add unto
thee.
Bach. Such Additions may be for your ease Sir,
Not my honestie: I am well in being single, good Sir seek
another, I am no meat for money.
Leon. Shall I fight for thee?
This sword shall cut his throat, that dars lay claim
But to a Finger of thee, but to a look, I would
See such a fellow.
Bac. It would be but a cold sight to you:
This is the father of S. George a foot-back,
Can such dry mumming talk.
Tim. Before the gods, your grace lookes like Æneas.