Twas but mistaking; such a night as this
May well deceive a man. God boye,[1849] sir. 10
[Exit.]
Phil. Gods will, tis sir Raph Smith, a vertuous knight!
How gently entertaines he my hard answer!
Rude anger made my tongue unmannerly:
I crie him mercie. Well, but all this while
I cannot finde a Francis.—Francis, ho! 15
[Enter Will.]
Wil. Francis, ho! O, you call Francis now!