Bout. My fate compell'd me; but now farewell, fond fear:
My soul, my life, my lands, and reputation—
I'll hazard all, and prize them all beneath thee.
Taf. Which I shall put to trial; lend me thy ear.
[They talk apart.
Adri. Can you love, boy?
Con. Yes.
Adri. What or whom?
Con. My victuals.
Adri. A pretty knave, i' faith! come home tonight,
Shalt have a posset and candied eringoes.
A bed, if need be, too: I love, a' [my] life,
To play with such baboons as thou.
Con. Indeed!
But dost thou think the widow will have my master?
Adri. I'll tell thee then: wo't come?