Poin. Is it not strange, that Desire should so many
yeeres out-liue performance?
Fal. Kisse me Dol
Prince. Saturne and Venus this yeere in Coniunction?
What sayes the Almanack to that?
Poin. And looke whether the fierie Trigon, his Man,
be not lisping to his Masters old Tables, his Note-Booke,
his Councell-keeper?
Fal. Thou do'st giue me flatt'ring Busses
Dol. Nay truely, I kisse thee with a most constant
heart
Fal. I am olde, I am olde
Dol. I loue thee better, then I loue ere a scuruie young
Boy of them all
Fal. What Stuffe wilt thou haue a Kirtle of? I shall receiue Money on Thursday: thou shalt haue a Cappe to morrow. A merrie Song, come: it growes late, wee will to Bed. Thou wilt forget me, when I am gone
Dol. Thou wilt set me a weeping, if thou say'st so: proue that euer I dresse my selfe handsome, till thy returne: well, hearken the end
Fal. Some Sack, Francis
Prin. Poin. Anon, anon, Sir
Fal. Ha? a Bastard Sonne of the Kings? And art not
thou Poines, his Brother?
Prince. Why thou Globe of sinfull Continents, what
a life do'st thou lead?
Fal. A better then thou: I am a Gentleman, thou art
a Drawer