Free. Prithee be not uncivilly importunate; sha’ not ha’t; faith, I care not for thee, nor thy jealousy; sha’ not ha’t, i’faith.

Fra. You do not love me. I hear of Sir Hubert Subboys’ daughter, Mistress Beatrice. God’s sacrament, ick could scratch out her eyes, and suck the holes!

Free. Go; y’ are grown a punk rampant!

So, get thee gone; ne’er more behold min eyes, by thee made wretched!    90

Free. Mary Faugh, farewell!—farewell, Frank!

Fra. Sall I not ha’ de ring?

Free. No, by the Lord!

Fra. By te Lord?

Free. By the Lord!

Fra. Go to your new blouze,—your unproved sluttery,—your modest mettre, forsooth!