Rose. After I had sold my chickens—I hope there's no harm in that.
Enter Plume.
Plume. What, Mr. Wilful so close with my market woman!
Syl. I'll try if he loves her. [Aside.] Close, sir, ay, and closer yet, sir. Come, my pretty maid, you and I will withdraw a little.
Plume. No, no, friend, I han't done with her yet.
Syl. Nor have I begun with her; so I have as good a right as you have.
Plume. Thou'rt a bloody impudent fellow!
Syl. Sir, I would qualify myself for the service.
Plume. Hast thou really a mind to the service?
Syl. Yes, sir, so let her go.