Abig. 'Tis strange my Ladie should be such a tyrant?
Wel. To send you to me, 'Pray goe stitch, good doe, y'are more trouble to me than a Term.
Abig. I do not know how my good will, if I said love I lied not, should any way deserve this?
Wel. A thousand waies, a thousand waies; sweet creature let me depart in peace.
Abig. What Creature Sir? I hope I am a woman.
Wel. A hundred I think by your noise.
Abig. Since you are angrie Sir, I am bold to tell you that I am a woman, and a rib.
Wel. Of a roasted horse.
Abig. Conster me that?
Wel. A Dog can doe it better; Farwell Countess, and commend me to your Ladie, tell her she's proud, and scurvie, and so I commit you both to your tempter.