City w. By the standard: you have a pretty set too, how big is the steele you set it with?
Hostis. As bigge as a reasonable sufficient—
Enter Prentice.
Pren. Mistris, my Maister would desire you to come in.
Citty w. What? she shall not come yet: if you lay down the bucklers, you lose the victorie.
Hostis. By my troth, I must goe, we shall have such a coyle else.
Cittie w. A coyle! why, have you not a tongue in your head? faith if ye win not all at that weapon, yee are not worthy to be a woman. You heare not the news abroade?
Hostis. No: what newes?
City W. No, I warrant ye, you never come abroad; this is to be troubled with a fatte man, he never comes abroad himself nor suffers his wife out of his sight: yee shall ever have a fatte Host either on his bench at the dore or in his chair at the chimney; & there he spits and spaules a roome like twentie Tobacco-takers. Oh! fye on them, beasts!
Hostis. I prethee, what newes?