Rasor. Come, kiss me, then.
[Clapping his Hands behind him.
Madam. Nay, pridee tell me.
Rasor. Good by t' ye.
[Going.
Madam. Hold, hold: I will kiss dee.
[Kissing him.
Rasor. So, that's civil: Why, now, my pretty Poll, my Goldfinch, my little Waterwagtail——you must know, that——Come, kiss me again.
Madam. I won't kiss de no more.
Rasor. Good by t' ye.