Bold. No, indeed, madam; now and then a piece of scarlet, or so; a little white and red ceruse; but, in troth, madam, I have an excellent receipt for a nightmask as ever you heard.
Wid. What is it?
Bold. Boar's grease one ounce; Jordan almonds, blanched and ground, a quartern; red rosewater, half a pint; mare's urine, newly covered, half a score drops.
Wid. Fogh! no more of thy medicine, if thou lovest me. Few of our knights-errant, when they meet a fair lady-errant in a morning, would think her face had lain so plastered all night. Thou hast had some apothecary to thy sweetheart. But, leaving this face-physic (for, by my troth, it may make others have good ones, but it makes me a scurvy one), which of all the gallants in the town wouldst thou make a husband of, if thou mightst have him for thy choosing?
Bold. In troth, madam, but you'll say I speak blindly, but let my love stand aside——
Wid. I think it not fit, indeed, your love should stand in the middle.
Bold. I say, Master Bold. O, do but mark him, madam; his leg, his hand, his body, and all his members stand in print.
Wid. Out upon thee, Princox! No. Methinks Welltried's a handsome fellow. I like not these starched gallants: masculine faces and masculine gestures please me best.
Bold. How like you Master Pert?