John. Susan, my dear, you be a passing fine wench to look upon, and that’s the truth.
Susan. And is it to tell me such foolishness that you’ve brought me all the way out of the kitchen?
John. [Stooping and picking a dandelion.] And to give you this flower, dear Susan.
Susan. [Throwing it down.] A common thing like that! I’ll have none of it.
John. ’Tis prime you looks when you be angered, Susan. The blue fire do fairly leap from your eyes.
Susan. O you’re enough to anger a saint, John. What have you brought me here for?
John. I thought I’d like to tell you as you was such a fine wench, Susan. And that I did never see a finer.
Susan. You do look at me as though I was yonder prize heifer what Master William’s so powerful set on.
John. Ah—and ’tis true as you have sommat of the look of she when you stands a pawing of the ground as you be now.
Susan. Is it to insult me that you’ve got me away from the kitchen, John?