Gal. Where was’t?
Guil. Look ye, Sir, there, don’t you see them?
Gal. How does your Highness? This Fellow told me
Of a quarrel here, which made me haste.
Fred. Be silent, and carry me to my own apartment.
Gal. Alas, Sir, is it you that fought?
Fred. No more Questions.—
Kind Boy, pray leave me not till I have found
A way to recompense thy pretty care of me.
Clo. I will wait on you, Sir.