Oh, she’s a rare one; what say you, Will, riggish, eh?
Shakespeare:
[To Chettle.] Hush! Hush!
Miss Fitton:
[Calls Hughes to her.] Here, boy, Lady Jane says you’re pretty and your voice sweet. [Aside.] Prove to her that your lips are as soft as her cheek.
[Hughes kisses Lady Jane Wroth. All laugh.]
Lady Wroth:
[Affectedly.] No, no, I prithee! [She yields to the kiss, and then to Miss Fitton.] I don’t know, Mary, how you dare. At your age I’d have died of shame to speak of lips and cheeks to a man.
Miss Fitton:
But you’d have thought all the more, eh, Jane? And thoughts leap to act without the aid of speech. Have I touched you there? Ha! ha! [Hughes sings another verse.]