Bell. Nay, pray thee, sweet honey Roger, hold up handsomely. [Sings.
Pretty wantons warble, &c.
We shall ha’ guests to day, I lay my little maidenhead; my nose itches so.
Rog. I said so too last night, when our fleas twinged me.
Bell. So, poke my ruff now, my gown, my gown! have I my fall? where’s my fall, Roger?
Rog. Your fall, forsooth, is behind. [Knocking within.
Bell. God’s my pittikins![149] some fool or other knocks.
Rog. Shall I open to the fool, mistress?
Bell. And all these baubles lying thus? Away with it quickly.—Ay, ay, knock, and be damned, whosoever you be!—So: give the fresh salmon line now: let him come ashore. [Exit Roger.] He shall serve for my breakfast, though he go against my stomach.
Enter Fluello, Castruchio, and Pioratto, with Roger.