Michael, the Ardens’ servant, and Clarke, a local painter and
Michael: But who is this? the painter, my corrival, that would needs win Mistress Susan.
Clarke: How now, Michael? how doth my mistress and all at home?
Michael: Who? Susan Mosby? she is your mistress, too?
Clarke: Ay, how doth she and all the rest?
Michael: All’s well but Susan; she is sick.
Clarke: Sick? Of what disease?
Michael: Of a great fever.
Clarke: A fear of what?
Michael: A great fever.
Clarke: A fever? God forbid!
Michael: Yes, faith, and of a lordaine, too, as big as yourself.
Clarke: O, Michael, the spleen prickles you. Go to,you carry an eye over Mistress Susan.
Michael: I’ faith, to keep her from the painter.
Clarke: Why more from a painter than from a serving creature like yourself?
Michael: Because you painters make but a painting table of a pretty wench, and spoil her
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