SKINK. Where is my lord?
RED. Marry, p-p-prisoner in the Fl-Fleet, a-a-and w-would have her speak to P-Prince R-Richard for his re-re-release.
SKINK. I have much business; hold, there's thy fare by water, my Lady lies this night—
RED. Wh-wh-where, I pray?
SKINK. At Gravesend at the Angel.
RED. 'Tis devilish co-co-cold going by water.
SKINK. Why, there's my cloak and hat to keep thee warm;
Thy cap and jerkin will serve me to ride in
By the way; thou hast wind and tide; take oars;
My lady will reward thee royally.
RED. G-God-a-mercy, f-fa-faith; and ever th-thou co-co-come to the Fl-Fl-Fleet, I'll give the tu-tu-turning of the ke-key f-for n-no-nothing.
SKINK. Hie thee; to-morrow morning at Gravesend I'll wash thy stammering throat with a mug of ale merrily.
RED. God be w-with you till s-soo-soon. What call you the lady? O, now I re-remember: the La-Lady Fa-Fauconbridge. At what s-sign?