Par. Who? not the poetess we met at Master Sad's?
Jolly. Yes, the same.
Par. Sure, she's mad.
Jolly. Prythee, tell her I am gone to bed.
Ser. I have done as well, sir: I told her Mistress Wanton was here; at which discreetly, being touched with the guilt of her face, she threw out a curse or two, and retreated.
Wan. Who is this you speak of? I will know who 'tis.
Par. Why, 'tis she that married the Genoa merchant; they cozened one another.
Wan. Who? Peg Driver, bugle-eyes?
Jolly. The same, the same.
Wan. Why, she is ugly now?