Alon. Let me entreat thee to be gone; the boys will hoot at me to see me followed thus against my will.
Mask. Shall you and I concern ourselves for what the boys do, sir? Pray do you hear the news at court?
Alon. Pr'ythee, what's the news to thee or me?
Mask. Will you be at the next juego de cannas?
Alon. If I think good.
Mask. Pray go on, sir; we can discourse as we walk together: And whither were you now a-going, sir?
Alon. To the devil, I think.
Mask. O, not this year or two, sir, by your age.
Jac. My father was never so matched for talking in all his life before; he who loves to hear nothing but himself: Pr'ythee, Beatrix, stay behind, and see what this impudent Englishman would have.
Beat. Sir, if you'll let my master go, I'll be his pawn.