[to THE KNAVE]
I pray you, sir, blow.

THE KNAVE
Marry! But here’s a lady of good interest, whose toe-nails are the very green of the common hump, where grass doth grow and where country lovers do foot. Whither shall I blow, maid? For I am but a traveling tumbleweed, and may well be carried by any wind, e’en south.

BONNIE
I mean only the wind in thine own maw in this case; blow, then, serve your turn and cool my hot temper.

THE KNAVE
Sayst thou that I must blow upon thy foot, painted lady?

BONNIE
I ask this deed of you thrice now; and that which a damsel craves constantly is the service of a tongue most moved in capability. Look to my foot; I cannot reach that far. Blow, wind!

THE KNAVE
I fear thy charms. Will not thy consort mind
If I bestow his lady fair my wind?

BONNIE
Nay, there’s naught for which Oliver carest;
He mindeth not, for he’s a nihilist.