Enter Leontine with a staff and a looking glass.
Leon. Timantus.
Tim. Sir.
Leon. This Feather is not large enough.
Tim. Yes faith, 'tis such [a] one as the rest of the young Gallants wear.
Leon. Telamon, does it doe well?
Tela. Sir, it becomes you, or you become it, the rareliest—
Leon. Away, dost think so?
Tela. Think Sir? I know it. Sir, the Princess, is past all hope of life since the Dwarf was put to death.