The things we do!

_Clowne_. Well sayde, ould sinner.
_Raphael_. See, heeres the sum, 3 hundred crownes.
_Mildewe_. O'th somme.
_Raphael_. All currant and full weight.
_Mildewe_. I'l fetch my doughter
That hath no lightnes in her, currant too
As any lasse i'th cittye.
_Raphael_. _Mildewe_, staye.
_Clowne_. Staye, oh thou father of fornication and marchant of nothinge
but mesteryes and mischeife; whele about, thou dung[c]art of diseases;
sayle this way thoue galley foyst[56] of galls and garbadge! Dost not
heare my master? staye!
_Mildewe_. Why, did his worshippe call?
_Clowne_. Didst thou not heare him call, and mee cry out upon thee?
_Mildewe_. His pleasure then?
_Raphael_. I have bethought mee better nowe to keepe
This business secrett, least it chance to arryve
To th'eares of some of my most noble frends;
And not to make it publicke and this honest
Purpose of myne by that meanes misreated,[57]
Heare lett her stay till night bycause I am loath
In th'eye of day to move her through the streetes.
_Mildewe_. Good, syr.
_Raphael_.


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