Boy. And who is your Deare?
Rosa. If we choose by the hornes, your selfe come not
neare. Finely put on indeede

Maria. You still wrangle with her Boyet, and shee
strikes at the brow

Boyet. But she her selfe is hit lower:
Haue I hit her now

Rosa. Shall I come vpon thee with an old saying, that
was a man when King Pippin of France was a little boy, as
touching the hit it

Boyet. So I may answere thee with one as old that
was a woman when Queene Guinouer of Brittaine was a
little wench, as touching the hit it

Rosa. Thou canst not hit it, hit it, hit it,
Thou canst not hit it my good man

Boy. I cannot, cannot, cannot:
And I cannot, another can.
Enter.

Clo. By my troth most pleasant, how both did fit it

Mar. A marke marueilous well shot, for they both
did hit