_Short._ Where, where?

_Rog._ Within here, h'as made the gayest sport with _Tom_ the
Coachman, so tewed him up with Sack that he lies lashing a But of
Malmsie for his Mares.

_Short._ 'Tis very good.

_Rog._ And talks and laughs, and sings the rarest songs, and
_Shorthose_, he has so maul'd the Red Deer pies, made such an alms
i'th' butterie.

_Short._ Better still.

_Enter_ Val. Widow.

_Hum._ My Lady in a rage with the Gentleman?

_Short._ May he anger her into a feather. [_Exeunt._

_Wid._ I pray tell me, who sent you hither? for I imagine it is not
your condition, you look so temperately, and like a Gentleman, to ask me
these milde questions.

_Val._ Do you think I use to walk of errands, gentle Lady, or deal
with women out of dreams from others?

_Wid._ You have not know[n] me sure?

_Val._ Not much.