Arden. Go to, sirrah, see you follow us to the Isle of Sheppy
To my Lord Cheiny’s, where we mean to dine.
[Exeunt Arden and Franklin. Manet Michael.
Michael. So, fair weather after you, for before you lies
Black Will and Shakebag in the broom close, too
close for you: they’ll be your ferrymen to long
home.
Here enters the Painter.
But who is this? the painter, my corrival, that
would needs win Mistress Susan.
Clarke. How now, Michael? how doth my mistress and all at home?
Michael. Who? Susan Mosbie? she is your mistress, too? 50
Clarke. Ay, how doth she and all the rest?
Michael. All’s well but Susan; she is sick.
Clarke. Sick? Of what disease?