95
Sir And. But it becomes [me] well enough, does't not?
Sir To. Excellent; it hangs like flax on a distaff; and
I hope to see a housewife take thee between her legs and
spin it off.
Sir And. Faith, I'll home to-morrow, Sir Toby: your
niece will not be seen; or if she be, it's four to one she'll
none of me: the [count] himself here hard by woos her.
Sir To. She'll none o' the count: she'll not match
above her degree, neither in estate, years, nor wit; I have