Black. Thus, thus.
Mons. What, so! Well, well, I have lessons enough for this time, little master; I will have no more, lest the multiplicity of them make me forget them, da.—Prue, art thou there and so pensive? what art thou thinking of?
Prue. Indeed, I am ashamed to tell your worship.
Mons. What, ashamed! wert thou thinking then of my beastliness? ha! ha! ha!
Prue. Nay, then I am forced to tell your worship in my own vindication.
Mons. Come then.
Prue. But indeed, your worship—I'm ashamed, that I am, though it was nothing but a dream I had of your sweet worship last night.
Mons. Of my sweet worship! I warrant it was a sweet dream then:—what was it? ha! ha! ha!
Prue. Nay, indeed, I have told your worship enough already; you may guess the rest.