" Is't not so,
mistress?
_Enter_ BIBBER _in slippers, with a skein of silk about his
neck_.
_Franc_. Will you see me wronged thus, under my own roof, as they
say, William?
_Isa_. Nay, 'tis very true, mistress: you let the men, with old
compliments, take up new clothes; I do not mean your wife's clothes,
Mr Merchant-Tailor.
_Bib_. Good, i'faith! a notable smart gentlewoman!
_Isa_. Look to your wife, sir, or, in time, she may undo your
trade; for she'll get all your men-customers to herself.
_Bib_. An' I should be hanged, I can forbear no longer. [_He
plucks out his measure, and runs to_ ISABELLA, _to take measure
of her_.
_Isa_. How now! what means Prince Pericles by this?
_Bib_. [_On his knees_.] I must beg your ladyship e'en to
have the honour to trust you but for your gown, for the sake of that
last jest, flowered sattin, wrought tabby, silver upon any grounds; I
shall run mad if I may not trust your ladyship.
_Franc_. I think you are mad already, as they say, William: You
shall not trust her--
[_Plucks him back_.
_Bib_. Let me alone, Frances: I am a lion when I am angered.
_Isa_. Pray do not pull your lion by the tail so, mistress--In
these clothes, that he now takes measure of me for, will I marry Sir
Timorous; mark that, and tremble, Failer.
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