Fee. I thank you heartily.
Well. 'Sheart! speak smaller, man.
Fee. I thank you heartily.
Count. You're going to this gear too, Master Bold?
Um, um, um!
Bold. Not to your coughing[138] gear,
My lord. Though I be not so old or rich
As your lordship, yet I love a young wench as well.
Well. As well as my lord? nay by my faith,
That you do not love a young wench as well as he:
I wonder you will be unmannerly to say so.
Count. Faith, Master Welltried, troth is I love them well, but they love not me, um, um. You see what ill-luck I have with them, um, um. A pox o' this cold, still say I.
Well. Where got you this cold, my lord? it can get in nowhere, that I can see, but at your nostrils or eyes; all the other parts are so barricadoed with fur.
Fee. It got
In at his eyes, and made that birdlime there,
Where Cupid's wings do hang entangled.
Count. Is this your wife, that, um, um, um—shall be?
Master Bold, I'll be so bold as kiss her.
[Widow and Bold whisper aside.