BAWD.
Pray you, without any more virginal fencing, will you use him kindly? He will line your apron with gold.
MARINA.
What he will do graciously, I will thankfully receive.
LYSIMACHUS.
Ha’ you done?
BAWD.
My lord, she’s not paced yet: you must take some pains to work her to your manage. Come, we will leave his honour and her together. Go thy ways.
[Exeunt Bawd, Pandar and Boult.]
LYSIMACHUS.
Now, pretty one, how long have you been at this trade?
MARINA.
What trade, sir?
LYSIMACHUS.
Why, I cannot name’t but I shall offend.
MARINA.
I cannot be offended with my trade. Please you to name it.
LYSIMACHUS.
How long have you been of this profession?