Spend. What lack you, sir? fair stuffs or velvets?
Bal. Good morrow, Frank.
Spend. Good morrow, Master Balance.
Gera. Save you, Master Longfield.
Long. And you, sir. What business draws you towards this end o' th' town?
Gera. Faith, no great serious affairs; only a stirring humour to walk, and partly to see the beauties of the city: but it may be you can instruct me. Pray, whose shop's this?
Long. Why, 'tis Will Rash's father's: a man you are well acquainted with.
Enter a Wench with a basket of linen.
Gera. As with yourself: and is that his sister?
Long. Marry, is it, sir?