Mont. [God] knows I need not, yet I would be lusty:
But —— my Provender scarce pricks me.
Lam. It shall be mended Montague, I am glad you are
grown so merry.
Mont. So am I too Madam.
Lam. You two will make a pretty handsome Consort.
Mont. Yes Madam, if my Fiddle fail me not.
Lam. Your Fiddle? why your Fiddle? I warrant thou
meanest madly:
Mont. Can you blame me? alas I am in love.
Char. 'Tis very well, Sir.
Lam. How long have you been thus?
Mont. How thus in love?