_Bar._ How now _Penurio_? _Pen._ Your worship's fairly met, Sir. You shall hear further from me, steal aside, Sir. _Cla._ Remember your Master for those Chains. _Pen._ They are ready, Sir. _Bart._ What young thing's this? by his habit he's a Merchant; I fear he trades my way too, you dryed dog-fish, What bait was that? _Pen._ Who Sir, the thing went hence now? A notable young whelp. _Bart._ To what end sirrah? _Pen._ Came to buy Chains and Rings, is to be married, An Asse, a Coxcomb, h'as nothing in's house Sir; I warrant you think he came to see my Mistriss? _Bart._ I doubt it shrewdly. _Pen._ Away, away 'tis foolish; He has not the face to look upon a Gentlewoman, A poor skim'd thing, his Mothers maids are fain, Sir To teach him how to kiss, and against he is married, To shew him on which side the stirrop stands. _Bart._ That's a fine youth. _Pen._ Thou wouldst hang thy self, that thou hadst half his power, Thou empty Potgun. _Bart._ Am I come fit _Penurio_? _Pen._ As fit as a fiddle, My Master's now abroad about his business. _Bart._ When thou cam'st to me home to day, I half suspected My wife was jealous, that she whispered to thee. _Pen._ You deserve well the whilst, there's no such matter, She talk'd about some toyes my Master must bring to her, You must not know of. _Bart._ I'll take no noat _Penurio_. _Pen._ No, nor you shall not, till yo[u] have it soundly. This is the bravest _Capitano Pompo_. _Enter_ Isabella. But I shall pump ye anon, Sir. _Isab._ Oh my _Bartello_. _Bart._ Ye pretty Rogue; you little Rogue, you sweet Rogue, Away _Penurio_, go and walk i'th' Horse-Fair. _Isab._ You do not love me? _Bart._ Thou liest, thou little rascal; There sirrah, to your Centry. _Pen._ How the Colt itches. I'll help ye to a Curry-comb shall claw ye. [_Exit._ _Isab._ And how much dost thou love me? _Bart._ Let's go in quickly, I'll tell thee presently, I'll measure it to thee. _Isab._ No busses first? sit o' my knee, my brave boy, My valiant boy; do not look so fiercely on me, Thou wilt fright me with thy face; come buss again Chick, Smile in my face you mad thing. _Bart._ I am mad indeed wench, Precious, I am all o' fire. _Isab._ I'll warm thee better. _Bar._ I'll warm thee too, or I'll blow out my bellows; Ha, ye sweet rogue, you loving rogue, a boy now, A Soldier I will get shall prove a fellow. _Enter_ Jaquenet _and_ Penurio. _Jaq._ Mistriss, look to your self, my Master's coming. _Bar._ The devil come, and go with him. _Pen._ The devil's come indeed, he brings your wife, Sir. _Isab._ We are undone, undone then. _Bar._ My wife with him? Why this is a dismal day. _Pen._ They are hard by too, Sir.