Sylv. Any thing for composition to be rid of you handsomely.
Cour. Are you really very honest? look in my face, and tell me that.
Sylv. Look in your face and tell you! for what? to spoil my stomach to my supper?
Cour. No, but to get thee a stomach to thy bed, sweetheart; I would if possible be better acquainted with thee, because thou art very ill-natured.
Sylv. Your only way to bring that business about effectually, is to be more troublesome; and if you think it worth your while to be abused substantially, you may make your personal appearance this night.
Cour. How? where? and when? and what hour, I beseech thee?
Sylv. Under the window, between the hours of eleven and twelve exactly.
Cour. Where shall these lovely eyes and ears
Hear my plaints, and see my tears?
Sylv. At that kind hour thy griefs shall end,
If thou canst know thy foe from thy friend. [Exit.