Bal. Scurvily, as I do.
Ros. And walk?
Bal. After their fashion.
Ros. And eat apples?
Bal. In a sort, in their garb. 240
Feli. Prithee, Flavia, be my mistress.
Fla. Your reason, good Feliche?
Feli. Faith, I have nineteen mistresses already, and I not much disdain that thou should’st make up the full score.
Fla. O, I hear you make commonplaces of your mistresses to perform the office of memory by. Pray you, in ancient times were not those satin hose? In good faith, now they are new dyed, pink’d, and scoured, they show as well as if they were new. What, mute, Balurdo? 250
Feli. Ay, in faith, and ’twere not for printing, and painting, my breech and your face would be out of reparation.[97]