_Enter Wynnifred_.

Witty Mistris _Wynnifred_, nay come neere, woman. I am sure this
Gentleman thinkes his Chamber the sweeter for your deare presence.

_Wyn_. My absence shall thanke him, my Lord.

_Mom_. What, rude? Mistris _Wynnifred_? nay faith you shall come to him,
and kisse him, for his kindenesse.

_Wyn_. Nay good, my Lord, I'le never goe to the market for that ware, I
can have it brought home to my Dore.

_Mom_. O _Wynnifred_, a man may know by the market-folkes how the market
goes.

_Wyn_. So you may, my Lord, but I know few Lords that thinke scorne to
go to that market themselves.

_Mom_. To goe to it _Wynnifred_? nay to ride to it yfaith.

_Wyn_. Thats more then I know my Lord.

_Mom_. Youle not beleeve it till you are then a horsebacke, will ye?

_Wyn_. Come, come, I am sent of a message to you, will you heare it?

_Mom_. Stoppe, stoppe, faire _Wynnifred_, would you have audience so
soone, there were no state in that yfaith. This faire gentlewoman sir--