Sim. And that hur loves Maries so monstrous, yet never saw her, was because hur hear hur in all societies so fery fillanously commended, but specially before one Master Pusy, constables of hur parish, who made hurself half foxed by swearing by the wines, that Maries would be monstrous good marriages for Randalls.
Moll. Master Busy, it seems, was not idle.
Sim. If Maries can love a Pritain of the plood of Cadwallader, which Cadwallader was Prut's great grandfather, Randalls was come in proper persons, pring round sillings in hur pockets, get father's goodwill, and go to shurch a Sunday with a whole dozen of Welsh harps before hur. So hur rest hur constant lovers,
Randall William ap Thomas, ap Tavy, ap Robert, ap Rice, ap Sheffery, Crack.
Moll. Fie! what shall I do with all them?
Sim. Why, he said these all rest your constant lovers, whereof, for manners'-sake, he puts himself in the first place. He will call here presently; will you answer him by letter or word of mouth?
Moll. Troth, neither of either, so let him understand.
Sim. Will ye not answer the love-sick gentleman?
Moll. If he be sick with the love of me, prythee, tell him I cannot endure him: let him make a virtue of necessity, and apply my hate for's health. [Exit.
Sim. Ay, but I'll have more care of the gentleman, I warrant you: if I do not make myself merry, and startle your midnight meeting, say Sim has no more wit than his godfathers, and they were both head-men of his parish.