Enter Lollia, and Alphonso in his shirt.
O Mistress Collaquintida, what shall become of us?
Col. Nay, I'm at my wit's end, and am made
Duller than any spur-gall'd, tired jade.
Alph. 'Sfoot, if he enter, I will break his neck.
Lol. Not for a world, dear love, step into my closet.
Alph. Did ever slave come thus unluckily?
Lol. Nay, now's no time for passion; good lord, in.
[Exit Alphonso.
Enter Prate.