—The Merchant of Venice, Act i., Sc. 1.
She mounts her chariot with a trice,
Nor would she stay for no advice,
Until her maids, that were so nice,
To wait on her were fitted.
But ran herself away alone;
Which when they heard, there was not one
But hasted after to be gone,
As she had been diswitted.
Hop, and Mop, and Drap so clear,