Bian. Why,[421] to bed, to bed.
Mal. Do your husbands lie with ye?
Bian. That were country fashion, i’faith.
Mal. Ha’ ye no foregoers about you? come, whither in good deed, la, now?
Maq.[422] In good indeed, la, now, to eat the most
miraculously, admirably, astonishable composed posset with three curds, without any drink. Will ye help me with a he-fox?—Here’s the duke. 33
Mal.[423] Fried frogs are very good, and French-like, too.
[Exeunt Ladies.
Enter Pietro, Celso, Equato, Bilioso, Ferrardo, and Mendoza.
Pietro. The night grows deep and foul: what hour is’t?