Vio. Pooh! nay, you wrench my finger.
Fus. I ha’ sworn I’ll ha’t, and I hope you will not let my oaths be cracked in the ring, will you? [Seizes the ring.] I hope, sir, you are not malicholly[173] at this, for all your great looks: are you angry?
Cand. Angry? not I, sir, nay if she can part
So easily with her ring, ’tis with my heart.
Geo. Suffer this, sir, and suffer all, a whoreson gull, to—
Cand. Peace George, when she has reaped what I have sown,
She’ll say, one grain tastes better of her own,
Than whole sheaves gathered from another’s land:
Wit’s never good, till bought at a dear hand.
Geo. But in the mean-time she makes an ass of some body.
2nd Pren. See, see, see, sir, as you turn your back they do nothing but kiss.
Cand. No matter, let ’em: when I touch her lip,
I shall not feel his kisses, no, nor miss
Any of her lip: no harm in kissing is.
Look to your business, pray, make up your wares.
Fus. Troth, coz, and well remembered, I would thou wouldst give me five yards of lawn, to make my punk some falling bands a’ the fashion; three falling one upon another, for that’s the new edition now: she’s out of linen horribly, too; troth, sh’ as never a good smock to her back neither, but one that has a great many patches in’t, and that I’m fain to wear myself for want of shift, too: prithee, put me into wholesome napery, and bestow some clean commodities upon us.