If the crimson parlor hath exchanged its hue
For colors not so welcome. Faded though it be,
It will not show less lovely than the tinge
Of this faint red, contending with the pale,
Where once the full-flush'd health gave to this cheek
An apt resemblance to the fruit's warm side,
That bears my Katherine's name.—
Our carriage, Philip.
Enter a Servant.
Now, Robin, what make you here?