To. Prethee hold thy peace, this is not the way: Doe
you not see you moue him? Let me alone with him
Fa. No way but gentlenesse, gently, gently: the Fiend
is rough, and will not be roughly vs'd
To. Why how now my bawcock? how dost y chuck?
Mal. Sir
To. I biddy, come with me. What man, tis not for grauity to play at cherrie-pit with sathan Hang him foul Colliar
Mar. Get him to say his prayers, good sir Toby gette him to pray
Mal. My prayers Minx
Mar. No I warrant you, he will not heare of godlynesse
Mal. Go hang your selues all: you are ydle shallowe things, I am not of your element, you shall knowe more heereafter.
Exit
To. Ist possible?
Fa. If this were plaid vpon a stage now, I could condemne
it as an improbable fiction