Cand. How now? what’s the matter?
Geo. The gentlemen find fault with this lawn, fall out with it, and without a cause too.
Cand. Without a cause?
And that makes you to let ’em pass away:
Ah, may I crave a word with you gentlemen?
Flu. He calls us.
Cas. —Makes the better for the jest.
Cand. I pray come near, you’re very welcome, gallants.
Pray pardon my man’s rudeness, for I fear me
H’as talked above a prentice with you. Lawns! [Showing lawns.
Look you, kind gentlemen, this—no—ay—this:
Take this upon my honest-dealing faith,
To be a true weave, not too hard, nor slack,
But e’en as far from falsehood as from black.
Cas. Well, how do you rate it?
Cand. Very conscionably, eighteen shillings a yard.
Cas. That’s too dear: how many yards does the whole piece contain, think you?
Cand. Why, some seventeen yards, I think, or thereabouts.
How much would serve your turn, I pray?