PRIEST.
Doll, if this blade hold, there's not a peddlar walks with a
pack, but thou shalt as boldly choose of his wares, as with
thy ready money in a Merchant's shop. We'll have as good
silver as the King coins any.

DOLL.
What, is all the gold spent you took the last day from the
Courtier?

PRIEST.
Tis gone, Doll, tis flown; merely come, merely gone: he
comes a horse back that much pay for all. We'll have as
good meat as money can get, and as good gowns as can be
bought for gold. Be merry, wench, the malt-man comes on
Monday.

DOLL.
You might have left me at Cobham, until you had been
better provided for.

PRIEST.
No, sweet Doll, no: I do not like that. Yond old ruffian is
not for the priest: I do not like a new clerk should come in
the old belfry.

DOLL.
Ah, thou art a mad priest, yfaith.