Clown. She looks for one, they call him father Antony, sir; and he's wished[134] to her by Madonna Lussuriosa.
Enter Dorothea and Francisco.
Lod. There's another modest soul too, never without a holy man at her elbow! But here comes one outweighs them all. Why, how now, chick, weeping so fast? This is the fault of most of our ladies; painting—weeping for their sins I should say, spoils their faces.
Fran. Sweet madam.
Lod. Look, look, look! loving soul, he weeps for company!
Clown. And I shall laugh outright by and by.
Dor. O that good man!
Lod. Why, bird?
Jas. Be patient, lady.
Dor. Would he go to heaven without his zealous pupil?