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?