Cel. For sanctity I think much less: good even Sir.
Ant. Nay noble Lady, stay: 'tis you must wear 'em: Never look strange, they are worthy your best beauty.
Cel. Did you speak to me?
Ant. To you or to none living: To you they are sent, to you they are sacrificed.
Cel. I'le never look a Horse i'th' mouth that's given: I thank ye, Sir: I'le send one to reward ye.
Ant. Do you never ask who sent 'em?
Cel. Never I:
Nor never care, if it be an honest end,
That end's the full reward, and thanks but slubber it;
If it be ill, I will not urge the acquaintance.
Ant. This has a soul indeed: pray let me tell ye—
Cel. I care not if ye do, so you do it hansomly, And not stand picking of your words.
Ant. The King sent 'em.