King. I hear; speak on. It shall not 'scape my heed.
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Chor. Girdles I have, and zones that bind my robes.
King. Such things are fitting for a woman's state.
Chor. With these then, know, as good and rare device....
King. Nay, speak. What word is this thou'lt utter now?
Chor. Unless thou giv'st our band thy plighted word....
King. What wilt thou do with this device of girdles?
Chor. With tablets new these sculptures we'll adorn.
King. Thou speak'st a riddle. Make thy meaning plain.