With a young music-girl.
Laches. How! what! in love!
Knows he already what a harlot is?
Is he in town? misfortune on misfortune!
Has he stol’n into town? More plagues on plagues.
Par. Nay, Sir! don’t look on me! it was not done
By my advice.
Laches. Leave prating of yourself.
As for you, rascal, if I live—But first
Whatever has befallen, tell me, quick!