Mat. Signor Lodovico? how does my little Mirror of Knighthood?[269] this is kindly done i’faith: welcome, by my troth.
Lod. And how dost, frolic?—Save you fair lady.—
Thou lookest smug and bravely, noble Mat.
Mat. Drink and feed, laugh and lie warm.
Lod. Is this thy wife?
Mat. A poor gentlewoman, sir, whom I make use of a’nights.
Lod. Pay custom to your lips, sweet lady. [Kisses her.
Mat. Borrow some shells[270] of him—some wine, sweetheart.
Lod. I’ll send for’t then, i’faith.
Mat. You send for’t?—Some wine, I prithee.