And new hatcht hate makes every jest a wrong. [Aside.]
Mi. Go. Looke ye, mistresse, now I hit yee.
Mi. Bar. Why, I, you never use to misse a blot,[1632] 165
Especially when it stands so faire to hit.
Mi. Gou. How meane ye, mistresse Barnes?
Mi. Ba. That mistresse Gourse's in the hitting vaine.
Mi. Gou. I hot[1634] your man.
Mi. Bar. I, I, my man, my man; but, had I knowne, 170
I would have had my man stood neerer home.
Mi. Gou. Why, had ye kept your man in his right place,