Miss Fitton:
Who praise the friend, dispraise the woman.
Herbert:
You’re too persuaded to be changed. Lady Cynthia, the Mistress of the Robes has sent me for you; may I give you conduct to her? [To Miss Fitton, bowing.] Would you be seated lady? [Pointing to a seat.] Your page will be returned before you’ve missed her. [Bows low. They go off, R.C.]
Scene IX.
Shakespeare:
[Enters, L., with a mask in his hand, and stops on catching sight of Miss Fitton.] Ah!
Miss Fitton:
[Looking at him over her shoulder.] Oh, the poet! Well, Master Shakespeare, what think you of my dress?
Shakespeare: