Lacy:
But those who trust too much are like the rathe flowers, frost-blighted.
Southampton:
Here comes Mistress Violet—we’ll take leave of you. I was telling Shakespeare, lady, how fair you are.
Scene IV.
Violet:
[Curtseying.] I thank you humbly, my lord.
[Exit Southampton and Lacy bowing low.]
Shakespeare:
[Smiling.] At last, Violet.