Hero. Why how now? do you speake in the sick tune?
Beat. I am out of all other tune, me thinkes

Mar. Claps into Light a loue, (that goes without a
burden,) do you sing it and Ile dance it

Beat. Ye Light aloue with your heeles, then if your
husband haue stables enough, you'll looke he shall lacke
no barnes

Mar. O illegitimate construction! I scorne that with
my heeles

Beat. 'Tis almost fiue a clocke cosin, 'tis time you
were ready, by my troth I am exceeding ill, hey ho

Mar. For a hauke, a horse, or a husband?
Beat. For the letter that begins them all, H

Mar. Well, and you be not turn'd Turke, there's no
more sayling by the starre

Beat. What meanes the foole trow?
Mar. Nothing I, but God send euery one their harts
desire

Hero. These gloues the Count sent mee, they are an
excellent perfume

Beat. I am stuft cosin, I cannot smell