Gov. O God, my head.
Cel. Prethee be well, and tell me,
Did he speak of me, since he came? nay, see now,
If thou wilt leave this tyranny? good sweet governess,
Did he but name his Celia? look upon me,
Upon my faith I meant no harm: here, take this,
And buy thy self some trifles: did he good wench?
Gov. He loves ye but too dearly.
Cel. That's my good Governess.
Gov. There's more cloaths making for ye.
Cel. More cloaths?
Gov. More:
Richer and braver; I can tell ye that news;
And twenty glorious things.
Cel. To what use Sirrah?
Gov. Ye are too good for our house now: we poor wretches Shall lose the comfort of ye.
Cel. No, I hope not.