M. Mery. No is? why then vnsayde againe,

And what yong girle is this with your mashyp so bolde?

R. Royster. A girle?

M. Mery. Yea. I dare say, scarse yet three score yere old.

R. Royster. This same is the faire widowes nourse of whome ye wotte.

M. Mery. Is she but a nourse of a house? hence home olde trotte,

Hence at once.

R. Royster. No, no.

M. Mery. What an please your maship

A nourse talke so homely with one of your worship?