Short. Where, where?
Rog. Within here, h'as made the gayest sport with Tom the Coachman, so tewed him up with Sack that he lies lashing a But of Malmsie for his Mares.
Short. 'Tis very good.
Rog. And talks and laughs, and sings the rarest songs, and Shorthose, he has so maul'd the Red Deer pies, made such an alms i'th' butterie.
Short. Better still.
Enter Val. Widow.
Hum. My Lady in a rage with the Gentleman?
Short. May he anger her into a feather.[Exeunt.
Wid. I pray tell me, who sent you hither? for I imagine it is not your condition, you look so temperately, and like a Gentleman, to ask me these milde questions.
Val. Do you think I use to walk of errands, gentle Lady, or deal with women out of dreams from others?