Enter Caqueteur.
Cri. Peace, he’s here; stand close, lurk.
Caq. Good morrow, most dear, and worthy to be most wise. How does my mistress?
Cri. Morrow, sweet servant; you glister,—prithee, let’s see that stone.
Caq. A toy, lady, I bought to please my finger.
Cri. Why, I am more precious to you than your finger.
Caq. Yes, or than all my body, I swear. 160
Cri. Why, then let it be bought to please me; come, I am no professed beggar.
Caq. Troth, mistress! Zoons! Forsooth, I protest!
Cri. Nay, if you turn Protestant for such a toy.