MOS: Marry,
Where yet, if you make haste, you may apprehend,
Rowing upon the water in a gondole,
With the most cunning courtezan of Venice.

LADY P: Is't true?

MOS: Pursue them, and believe your eyes;
Leave me, to make your gift.
[EXIT LADY P. HASTILY.]
--I knew 'twould take:
For, lightly, they, that use themselves most license,
Are still most jealous.

VOLP: Mosca, hearty thanks,
For thy quick fiction, and delivery of me.
Now to my hopes, what say'st thou?

[RE-ENTER LADY P. WOULD-BE.]

LADY P: But do you hear, sir?--

VOLP: Again! I fear a paroxysm.

LADY P: Which way
Row'd they together?

MOS: Toward the Rialto.