What now?
M. Merry. A lousy hair from your mastership's beard.
And sir, for nurse's sake, pardon this one offence.
Omnes Famulæ. We shall not after this show the like negligence.
R. Roister. I pardon you this once; and, come, sing ne'er the worse.
M. Merry. How like you the goodness of this gentleman, nurse?
M. Mumbl. God save his mastership, that can so his men forgive!
And I will hear them sing, ere I go, by his leave.
R. Roister. Marry, and thou shalt, wench: come, we two will dance.
M. Mumbl. Nay, I will by mine own self foot the song perchance.