Now, sir, hast thou cried her through the market?
BOULT.
I have cried her almost to the number of her hairs; I have drawn her picture with my voice.
BAWD.
And I prithee tell me, how dost thou find the inclination of the people, especially of the younger sort?
BOULT.
Faith, they listened to me as they would have hearkened to their father’s testament. There was a Spaniard’s mouth so watered, that he went to bed to her very description.
BAWD.
We shall have him here tomorrow with his best ruff on.
BOULT.
Tonight, tonight. But, mistress, do you know the French knight that cowers i’ the hams?
BAWD.
Who, Monsieur Veroles?
BOULT.
Ay, he: he offered to cut a caper at the proclamation; but he made a groan at it, and swore he would see her tomorrow.
BAWD.
Well, well, as for him, he brought his disease hither: here he does but repair it. I know he will come in our shadow, to scatter his crowns in the sun.
BOULT.
Well, if we had of every nation a traveller, we should lodge them with this sign.