Alex. Has he not a handsome body, straight legs,[82] a good face?
Moll. Yes, but his lips look as if they were as hard as his heart.
Anc. 'Sfoot, shalt try that presently.
Moll. You're basely, sir, conditioned. Pah!
Alex. Why do you spit?
Moll. You may go. By this light, he kisses sweetly. [Aside.
Alex. Do but stay a little, Moll: prythee, Moll, thou knowest my father has wronged him; make him amends, and marry him.
Moll. Sweet Master Spendall, spare your busy breath; I must have a wise man, or else none.
Alex. And is not he a wise man?
Moll. No.