Dor. Pray, hear me, sir; I cannot sleep, till you
Have resolv'd me one thing.
Lod. What is't, sweetheart?
Dor. Of all your men, which do you love best?
Lod. That's a strange question to ask at midnight! Francisco.
Dor. And that same false Francisco in your absence
Most lewdly tempted me to wrong your bed.
Fran. Was ever woodcock catch'd thus!
Lod. O rogue, I'll go cut his throat sleeping.
Dor. Nay, I have fitted him most daintily.
Fran. Now, now, now, now, I am spitted.
Dor. I seem'd, sweetheart, to consent to him——