CAPTAIN.
Oh, any thing that’s lost.
EDMOND. Why, look you, sir, I tel’t you as a friend and a Conjurer, I should marry a Poticaries daughter, and twas told me she lost her maidenhead at Stonie-stratford; now if you’ll do but so much as conjure fort, and make all whole again—
CAPTAIN.
That I will, sir.
EDMOND.
By my troth, I thanks you, la.
CAPTAIN.
A little merry with your sister’s son, sir.
SIR GODFREY. Oh, a simple young man, very simple: come, Captain, and you, sir, we’ll e’en part with a gallon of wine till to morrow break-fast.
PYE AND CAPTAIN.
Troth, agreed, sir.
NICHOLAS.
Kinsman—Scholar?
PYE.
Why, now thou art a good Knave, worth a hundred Brownists.
NICHOLAS.
Am I indeed, la? I thank you truly, la.