Boy. A mark, O marke but that marke: a marke saies
my Lady.
Let the mark haue a pricke in't, to meat at, if it may be

Mar. Wide a'th bow hand, yfaith your hand is out

Clo. Indeede a' must shoote nearer, or heele ne're hit
the clout

Boy. And if my hand be out, then belike your hand
is in

Clo. Then will shee get the vpshoot by cleauing the
is in

Ma. Come, come, you talke greasely, your lips grow
foule

Clo. She's too hard for you at pricks, sir challenge her
to boule

Boy. I feare too much rubbing: good night my good
Oule

Clo. By my soule a Swaine, a most simple Clowne.
Lord, Lord, how the Ladies and I haue put him downe.
O my troth most sweete iests, most inconie vulgar wit,
When it comes so smoothly off, so obscenely, as it were,
so fit.
Armathor ath to the side, O a most dainty man.