Bal. In good sober sadness, sweet mistress, you should have had my thought for a penny: by this crimson satin that cost eleven shillings, thirteen pence, three pence halfpenny a yard, that you should, law!
Ros. What was thy thought, good servant?
Bal. Marry forsooth, how many strike of pease would feed a hog fat against Christtide.
Ros. Paugh! [she spits] servant,[89] rub out my rheum, it soils the presence.
Cast. By my wealthiest thought, you grace my shoe with an unmeasured honour: I will preserve the sole of it, as a most sacred relic for this service. 92
Ros. I’ll spit in thy mouth, and thou wilt, to grace thee.
Feli. [Aside.] O that the stomach of this queasy age
Digests, or brooks such raw unseasoned gobs,
And vomits not them forth! O! slavish sots!
Servant, quoth you? faugh! if a dog should crave
And beg her service, he should have it straight:
She’d give him favours too, to lick her feet,
Or fetch her fan, or some such drudgery: 100
A good dog’s office, which these amorists
Triumph of: ’tis rare, well give her more ass,
More sot, as long as dropping of her nose
Is sworn rich pearl by such low slaves as those.
Ros. Flavia, attend me to attire me.
[Exeunt Rossaline and Flavia.