Mi. Ba. What a vilde girle tis, that would hav't so young!
Mal. A murren take that desembling tongue!
Ere your calves teeth were out, you thought it long. [Aside.]
Mi. Bar. But, minion, yet Ile keepe you from the man. 40
Mall. To save a lye, mother, say, if you can. [Aside.]
Mi. Bar. Well, now to looke for her.
Mal. I, theres the spight:
What trick shall I now have to scape her light? [Aside.]
Mi. Bar. Whose there? what, minion, is it you?— 45
Beshrew her heart, what a fright she put me to!