Enter Hamlet.
Ha. Your coach is coming, madam.
Ge. That’s well said. Now, heaven! methinks I am e’en up to the knees in preferment. 40
But a little higher, but a little higher, but a little higher,
There, there, there lies Cupid’s fire!
Mist. T. But must this young man, an’t please you, madam, run by your coach all the way a-foot?
Ge. Ay, by my faith, I warrant him; he gives no other milk, as I have another servant does.
Mist. T. Alas! ’tis e’en pity, methinks; for God’s sake, madam, buy him but a hobby-horse; let the poor youth have something betwixt his legs to ease ’hem. Alas! we must do as we would be done to. 50
Ge. Go to, hold your peace, dame; you talk like an old fool, I tell you!
Enter Sir Petronel and Quicksilver.
Pe. Wilt thou be gone, sweet honey-suckle, before I can go with thee?