Mildewe. I'l fetch my doughter That hath no lightnes in her, currant too As any lasse i'th cittye.
Raphael. Mildewe, staye.
Clowne. Staye, oh thou father of fornication and marchant of nothinge but mesteryes and mischeife; whele about, thou dung[c]art of diseases; sayle this way thoue galley foyst[56] of galls and garbadge! Dost not heare my master? staye!
Mildewe. Why, did his worshippe call?
Clowne. Didst thou not heare him call, and mee cry out upon thee?
Mildewe. His pleasure then?
Raphael. I have bethought mee better nowe to keepe
This business secrett, least it chance to arryve
To th'eares of some of my most noble frends;
And not to make it publicke and this honest
Purpose of myne by that meanes misreated,[57]
Heare lett her stay till night bycause I am loath
In th'eye of day to move her through the streetes.
Mildewe. Good, syr.
Raphael. Nwe [Now] in the villaige by, that fronts the sea,
Som halff league off where stands the monastery,
I have bespoake a place to sojorn her.
There I this evening do intend[58] a feast
Where only wee and som fewe private frends
Have purpost to bee jhoviall. To that place
I prithee, with what pryvacy thou canst,
Conduct her and so add unto our guests.
Mildewe. The place I knwe, the tyme is perfect with mee, And for the feast you saye you have prepared I shall provyde a stomacke.