ANA. Nay, good punk, sweet rascal; d--n me, if I am jealous now.
GEL. That's true, indeed, pray let's go.
MOR. What's the matter there?
GEL. 'Slight, he has me upon interrogatories, (nay, my mother
shall know how you use me,) where I have been? and why I should
stay so long? and how is't possible? and withal calls me at his
pleasure I know not how many cockatrices, and things.
MOR. In truth and sadness, these are no good epitaphs Anaides, to
bestow upon any gentlewoman; and I'll ensure you if I had known you
would have dealt thus with my daughter, she should never have
fancied you so deeply as she has done. Go to.
ANA. Why, do you hear, mother Moria? heart!
MOR. Nay, I pray you, sir, do not swear.
ANA. Swear! why? 'sblood, I have sworn afore now, I hope. Both
you and your daughter mistake me. I have not honour'd Arete, that
is held the worthiest lady in the court, next to Cynthia, with half
that observance and respect, as I have done her in private,
howsoever outwardly I have carried myself careless, and negligent.
Come, you are a foolish punk, and know not when you are well
employed. Kiss me, come on; do it, I say.
MOR. Nay, indeed, I must confess, she is apt to misprision.
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