WOMAN.
I thinke I should not, Madam.
EMILIA.
That’s a good wench:
But take heede to your kindnes though.
WOMAN.
Why, Madam?
EMILIA.
Men are mad things.
ARCITE.
Will ye goe forward, Cosen?
EMILIA.
Canst not thou worke such flowers in silke, wench?
WOMAN.
Yes.
EMILIA.
Ile have a gowne full of ’em, and of these;
This is a pretty colour, wilt not doe
Rarely upon a Skirt, wench?
WOMAN.
Deinty, Madam.
ARCITE.
Cosen, Cosen, how doe you, Sir? Why, Palamon?