Squ. Rich. Why ay, feather, does moather think 'at I'd be uncivil to her?
Myr. Master has so much good-humour, Madam, he would soon gain upon any body.
[He kisses Myr.
Squ. Rich. Lo' you there, Moather: and you would but be quiet, she and I should do well enough.
Lady Wrong. Why, how now, sirrah! Boys must not be so familiar.
Squ. Rich. Why, an' I know nobody, haw the murrain mun I pass my time here, in a strange place? Naw you and I and sister, forsooth, sometimes in an afternoon moy play at one and thirty bone-ace, purely.
Jenny. Speak for yourself, Sir! D'ye think I play at such clownish games?
Squ. Rich. Why and you woant yo' ma' let it aloane; then she, and I, mayhap, will have a bawt at All-fours, without you.
Sir Fran. Noa! Noa! Dick, that won't do neither; you mun learn to make one at Ombre, here, Child.
Myr. If Master pleases, I'll shew it him.