Isab. It may be so, but Luce, you have a tongue, a dish of meat in your mouth, which if it were minced Luce, would do a great deal better.
Luce. I protest Mistress.
Isab. It will be your own one time or other: Walter.
Walter [within.] Anon forsooth.
Isab. Lay my hat ready, my fan and cloak, you are so full of providence; and Walter, tuck up my little box behind the Coach, and bid my maid make ready, my sweet service to your good Lady Mistress; and my dog, good let the Coachman carry him.
Luce. But hear me.
Isab. I am in love sweet Luce, and you are so skilfull, that I must needs undo my self; and hear me, let Oliver pack up my Glass discreetly, and see my Curles well carried. O sweet Luce, you have a tongue, and open tongues have open you know what, Luce.
Luce. Pray you be satisfied.
Isab. Yes and contented too, before I leave you: there's a Roger, which some call a Butcher, I speak of certainties, I do not fish Luce, nay do not stare, I have a tongue can talk too: and a Green Chamber Luce, a back door opens to a long Gallerie; there was a night Luce, do you perceive, do you perceive me yet? O do you blush Luce? a Friday night I saw your Saint, Luce: for t'other box of Marmalade, all's thine sweet Roger, this I heard and kept too.
Luce. E'ne as you are a woman Mistress.