Clo. Your worship was wont to tell me
I could doe nothing without bidding.
Enter Iessica.
Ies. Call you? what is your will?
Shy. I am bid forth to supper Iessica,
There are my Keyes: but wherefore should I go?
I am not bid for loue, they flatter me,
But yet Ile goe in hate, to feede vpon
The prodigall Christian. Iessica my girle,
Looke to my house, I am right loath to goe,
There is some ill a bruing towards my rest,
For I did dreame of money bags to night
Clo. I beseech you sir goe, my yong Master
Doth expect your reproach