I hate a light a love, as I hate death.

LANCELOT.
Girl, hold thee there: look on this Devonshire lad:
Fat, fair, and lovely, both in purse and person.

OLIVER.
Well, sir, cham as the Lord hath made me. You
know me well, uyine: cha have three-score pack a
karsie, and black-em hal, and chief credit beside,
and my fortunes may be so good as an others, zo
it may.

LUCY.
[Aside to Arthur.] Tis you I love, whatsoever
others say.

ARTHUR.
Thanks, fairest.

FLOWERDALE.
[Aside to Father.] What, wouldnst thou have me
quarrel with him?

FATHER.
Do but say he shall hear from you.

LANCELOT.
Yet, gentleman, howsoever I prefer
This Devonshire suitor, I'll enforce no love;