Lod. Look how she spits now!
Jas. The deeper the sweeter, lady.
Clown. The nearer the bone, the sweeter the flesh, lady.
Dor. How now, sauce-box!
Clown. Did not my lord bid the gentlemen kiss you all over?
Lod. I have sweet cause to be jealous, have I not, gentlemen? no. Crede quod habes, et habes still. He that believes he has horns, has them. Will you go bring my horse, sir?
Clown. I will bring your horse, sir, and your horse shall bring his tail with him. [Exit.
Lod. Francis, I prythee, stay thou at home with thy lady. Get thy instrument ready; this melancholy will spoil her: before these lords here make her but laugh, when we are gone——
Fran. Laugh before these lords when they are gone, sir!
Lod. Pish! I mean, make her laugh heartily before we come home, and, before these lords, I promise thee a lease of forty crowns per annum.