Bell. Me thinks your words
Fall not from off your tongue so evenly,
Nor is there in your looks that quietness,
That I was wont to see.
Phi. Thou art deceiv'd boy:
And she stroakes thy head?
Bell. Yes.
Phi. And she does clap thy cheeks?
Bell. She does my Lord.
Phi. And she does kiss thee boy? ha!
Bell. How my Lord?
Phi. She kisses thee?
Bell. Not so my Lord.
Phi. Come, come, I know she does.