WIDDOW.
Archers?
SIR GODFREY.
Your husband’s Fletcher, I warrant.
WIDDOW.
Oh!
Let them come near, they bring home things of his.
Troth, I should ha forgot ’em. How now, Villain?
Which be those Archers?
[Enter the suitors Sir Andrew Tip-staff, Sir Oliver Muck-hill, and Penny-dub.]
FRAILTY. Why, do you not see ’em before you? are not these Archers? what do you call ’em? Shooters: Shooters and Archers are all one, I hope.
WIDDOW.
Out, ignorant slave.
MUCK-HILL.
Nay, pray be patient, Lady,
We come in way of honorable love.
TIP-STAFF.
We do.
PENNY-DUB.
We do.
MUCK-HILL.
To you.