Bell. Prithee, tell me; a buss, and tell me: I warrant he’s an honest fellow, if he take on thus for a wench: good rogue, who?
Mat. By th’ Lord I will not, must not, faith’ mistress. Is’t a match, sirs? this night, at th’ Antelope: ay, for there’s best wine, and good boys.
Flu., Cas., Pio. It’s done; at th’ Antelope.
Bell. I cannot be there to night.
Mat. Cannot? by th’ Lord you shall.
Bell. By the Lady I will not: shall!
Flu. Why, then, put it off till Friday; wu’t come then, coz?
Bell. Well.
Re-enter Roger.