L. Lam. Heaven help thy Ignorance! he’s gone to be made Protector, Fool, or at least a King, thou Creature; and from this Day I date my self her Highness.
Gill. That will be very fine indeed, an’t please your Highness.
L. Lam. I think ’twill sute better with my Person and Beauty than with the other Woman—what d’ye call her? Mrs. Cromwell—my Shape—and Gate—my Humour, and my Youth have something more of Grandeur, have they not?
Gill. Infinitely, an’t please your Highness.
Enter Page.
Page. Madam, a Man without has the boldness to ask for your Honour.
L. Lam. Honour, Fool!
Gill. Her Highness, Blockhead.
Page. Saucily prest in, and struck the Porter for denying him entrance to your—Highness.
L. Lam. What kind of Fellow was’t?