Pri. Why, you would not have a play, would you?
Por. Oh, by all meanes, 'tis your onely fine course. About it, ladds, a the stampe, I warrante you a reward sufficient; I tell you, my little windsuckers, had not a certaine melancholye ingendred with a nippinge dolour overshadowed the sunne shine of my mirthe, I had beene100 I pre, sequor, one of your consorte. F. 80r rev. wheres gooddy Hubbardes sonne—I saw him in his mothers holliday cloaths eennow?
Sec. Doe you heere, Master Porter, wee have pittifull nailes in our shooes; you were best lay something on the grounde, els wee shall make abhominable scarrs in the face on't.
Por. Rem tenes; well, weele thinke on't.
Ter. It is a most condolent tragedye wee shall move.
Por. Dictum puta; satis est quod suffocat. 110
Sec. In faith, I tickle them for a good voice.
Por. Sufficiente quantitate, a woord is enough to the wise.
Pri. You have noe butterd beare in the house, have yee?
Por. No, no, trudge, some of the guests are one the point to bee gone.