Ura. If you have any mercy left i' you to a poor wench, tell me.
Ism. Why wouldst [not thou] have thy brains beat out for this, to follow thy Mothers steps so young?
Ura. But believe me, she knows none of this.
Ism. Believe you? why do you think I never had wits? or that I am run out of them? how should it belong to you to know, if I could tell?
Ura. Why I will tell you, and if I speak false
Let the devil ha me: yonder's a bad man,
Come from a Tyrant to my Mother, and what name
They ha' for him, good faith I cannot tell.
Isme. An Ambassador.
Ura. That's it: but he would carry me away,
And have me marry his Master; and I'll day
E'r I will ha' him.
Ism. But what's this to knowing where the Prince is?
Ura. Yes: for you know all my Mother does:
Agen the Prince is but to ma me great.
Ism. Pray, I know that too well, what ten?