Warn. To confess the truth on't, you had angered me, and I was willing to evaporate my choler; if you will pass it by so, I may chance to help you to your mistress: No more words of this business, I advise you, but go home and grease your back.
Sir Mart. In fine, I must suffer it at his hands: for if my shoulders had not paid for this fault, my purse must have sweat blood for't: The rogue has got such a hank upon me——
Warn. So, so! here's another of our vessels come in, after the storm that parted us.
Enter Rose.
What comfort, Rose? no harbour near?
Rose. My lady, as you may well imagine, is most extremely incensed against Sir Martin; but she applauds your ingenuity to the skies. I'll say no more, but thereby hangs a tale.
Sir Mart. I am considering with myself about a plot, to bring all about again.
Rose. Yet again plotting! if you have such a mind to't, I know no way so proper for you, as to turn poet to Pugenello.
Warn. Hark! is not that music in your house?
[Music plays.
Rose. Yes, Sir John has given my mistress the fiddles, and our old man is as jocund yonder, and does so hug himself, to think how he has been revenged upon you!