Fior. Yes, sir.

Cal. Then stand fair,
For I am choleric; and do not nip
A hopeful blossom. Out again:—Three low
Obeisances—

Fior. I am ready.

Cal. I come on, then.

Calam. With much formality.

Cal. Umph! One, two, three.
[Makes antic courtesies.
Thus far I am right. Now for the last. [Kisses the skirt of her gown.]—O, rare!
She is perfumed all over! Sure great women,
Instead of little dogs, are privileged
To carry musk-cats.

Fior. Now the ceremony
Is pass'd, what is the substance?

Cal. I'll peruse
My instructions, and then tell you.—Her skirt kiss'd,
Inform her highness that your lord——

Calam. Who's that?

Cal. Prince Giovanni, who entreats your grace,
That he, with your good favour, may have leave
To present his service to you. I think I have nick'd it
For a courtier of the first form.