WOOER.
Yet, very well, Sir.
DOCTOR.
Please her appetite,
And doe it home; it cures her, ipso facto,
The mellencholly humour that infects her.
WOOER.
I am of your minde, Doctor.
[Enter Iaylor, Daughter, Maide.]
DOCTOR.
You’l finde it so; she comes, pray humour her.
IAILOR.
Come, your Love Palamon staies for you, childe,
And has done this long houre, to visite you.
DAUGHTER.
I thanke him for his gentle patience;
He’s a kind Gentleman, and I am much bound to him.
Did you nev’r see the horse he gave me?
IAILOR.
Yes.
DAUGHTER.
How doe you like him?
IAILOR.
He’s a very faire one.