_Limb._ Yes, we will come after you, bully Brainsick: but I hope you
will not draw upon us there.

_Brain._ If you fear that, Bilbo shall be left behind.

_Limb._ Nay, nay, leave but your madrigal behind: draw not that upon
us, and it is no matter for your sword. [_Exit_ BRAIN.

_Enter_ TRICKSY, _and_ MRS BRAINSICK, _with a note for each._

_Wood._ [_Aside._] Both together! either of them, apart, had been my
business: but I shall never play well at this three-hand game.

_Limb._ O Pug, how have you been passing your time?

_Trick._ I have been looking over the last present of orange gloves
you made me; and methinks I do not like the scent.--O Lord, Mr
Woodall, did you bring those you wear from Paris?

_Wood._ Mine are Roman, madam.

_Trick._ The scent I love, of all the world. Pray let me see them.

_Mrs Brain._ Nay, not both, good Mrs Tricksy; for I love that scent as
well as you.

_Wood._ [_Pulling them off, and giving each one._] I shall find two
dozen more of women's gloves among my trifles, if you please to accept
them, ladies.