Julia. Thank you, John, but I would sooner stop and watch you tend the flowers.
John. ’Tis all one to me whether you does or you does not.
Julia. Now, John, you are angry with me still.
John. I likes a wench as do know the mind of she, and not one as can blow hot one moment and cold the next.
Julia. There was never a moment when I did not know my own mind, John. And that’s the truth.
John. Well, us won’t say no more about that. ’Taint fit as there should be ill feeling nor quarrelling ’twixt me and you.
Julia. You’re right, John. And there was something that I had it in my mind to ask you.
John. You can say your fill. There baint no one but me in the garden.
Julia. John, you told me that since Sunday your master has been sick with love.
John. That’s right enough, mistress. I count as we shall bury he if sommat don’t come to his relief.