Scrib. That which the earthe Dothe forebidd none, and freely yelds to all, A little fayre springe water.
Godfr.—One of those giurles
Beelyke this morninge shippwrackt and now scapt?
A dainty peece of maydes fleshe. Such sweete bitts
Are not heare often swallowed, and my mouth
Waters at this fine morsell.
Scrib. Water, frend; Tis that I crave for heaven's sake.
Godfr. Wee have none Of guift, unless you by't.
Scrib. Will you sell that The earthe affourds you gratis, and sett pryse Of what a foe would yeeld an enemy?
Godfr. Not, pretty lasse, so thou'lt afford mee that,
Freely and without bargen, which not only
One frend will to another but oft tymes
A stranger to a stranger.
Scrib. What's that, prithee?
Godfr. Only a kisse, sweete wensh.
Scrib. Ye are too familiar, I'l by none at that pryse: or fill my pale Or I'l returne back empty.
Godfr. Well for once
I will not greatly stand out, yet in hope,
That what att our fyrst meetinge you'l not grant
You'l not denye at partinge; reatch thy pale.