HUNDS. Servant, Sir Charles.
POM. Ah, my yeoman pricker, with news of the mysterious Hebe of my Barnet rencontre. Well, sirrah, you stayed by the coach as I bade you?
HUNDS. Yes, Sir Charles.
POM. And pumped the servants?
HUNDS. Yes, Sir Charles, till they swore they’d pump on me.
POM. My good fellow, contrive to answer my questions without punning, will you?
HUNDS. Yes, Sir Charles.
POM. What did you learn from them? Who is the lady, their mistress?
HUNDS. She is on her way to town to join her husband. They have only been married a twelvemonth; and he has been absent from her half the time.
POM. Good. Her name?