Bub. By my troth, lady, I do not know; for to say truth, I am a kind of an ass.
Joyce. How, sir? an ass?
Bub. Yes, indeed, lady.
Joyce. Nay, that you are not.
Bub. So God ha' me, I am, lady: you never saw
An erranter ass in your life.
Joyce. Why, here's a gentleman, your friend, will not say so.
Bub. I' faith, but he shall: how say you, sir? Am not I an ass?
Scat. Yes, by my troth, lady, is he. Why, I'll say anything my brother Bubble says.
[Aside.]
Gert. Is this the man my father chose for me,
To make a husband of? O God, how blind
Are parents in our loves! so they have wealth,
They care not to what things they marry us.
Bub. Pray, look upon me, lady.