Gal. Lord, I do so; would you or I could help it.
Pha. Do Ladies of this Country use to give no more respect to men of my full being?
Gal. Full being! I understand you not, unless your Grace means growing to fatness; and then your only remedy (upon my knowledge, Prince) is in a morning a Cup of neat White-wine brew'd with Carduus, then fast till supper, about eight you may eat; use exercise, and keep a Sparrow-hawk, you can shoot in a Tiller; but of all, your Grace must flie Phlebotomie, fresh Pork, Conger, and clarified Whay; They are all dullers of the vital spirits.
Pha. Lady, you talk of nothing all this while.
Gal. 'Tis very true Sir, I talk of you.
Pha. This is a crafty wench, I like her wit well, 'twill be rare to stir up a leaden appetite, she's a Danae, and must be courted in a showr of gold. Madam, look here, all these and more, than—
Gal. What have you there, my Lord? Gold? Now, as I live tis fair gold; you would have silver for it to play with the Pages; you could not have taken me in a worse time; But if you have present use my Lord, I'le send my man with silver and keep your gold for you.
Pha. Lady, Lady.
Gal. She's coming Sir behind, will take white mony. Yet for all this I'le match ye.
[Exit Gal. behind the hangings.