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Section 133
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Val.
A my word the Fathers Sonne: Ile sweare 'tis a
very pretty boy. A my troth, I
look'd vpon him a Wens
day halfe an houre together: ha's such a
confirm'd coun
tenance. I saw him run after a gilded
Butterfly, & when
he caught it, he let it go againe, and after it againe,
and o
uer and ouer he comes, and vp againe: catcht it again: or
whether his fall enrag'd him, or how 'twas, hee did so set
his teeth, and
teare it. Oh, I warrant how he mammockt
it.