MISTRESS QUICKLY.
In truth, sir, and she is pretty, and honest, and gentle; and one that is your friend, I can tell you that by the way, I praise heaven for it.
FENTON.
Shall I do any good, think’st thou? Shall I not lose my suit?
MISTRESS QUICKLY.
Troth, sir, all is in His hands above. But notwithstanding, Master Fenton, I’ll be sworn on a book she loves you. Have not your worship a wart above your eye?
FENTON.
Yes, marry, have I; what of that?
MISTRESS QUICKLY.
Well, thereby hangs a tale. Good faith, it is such another Nan! But, I detest, an honest maid as ever broke bread. We had an hour’s talk of that wart. I shall never laugh but in that maid’s company. But, indeed, she is given too much to allicholy and musing. But for you—well, go to.
FENTON.
Well, I shall see her today. Hold, there’s money for thee. Let me have thy voice in my behalf. If thou seest her before me, commend me.
MISTRESS QUICKLY.
Will I? I’ faith, that we will! And I will tell your worship more of the wart the next time we have confidence, and of other wooers.
FENTON.
Well, farewell, I am in great haste now.
MISTRESS QUICKLY.
Farewell to your worship.
[Exit Fenton.]