C. Custance. Nay, come forth all three; and come hither, pretty maid:
Will not so many forewarnings make you afraid?
Tib. Talk. Yes, forsooth.
C. Custance. But still be a runner up and down?
Still be a bringer of tidings and tokens to town?
Tib. Talk. No, forsooth, mistress.
C. Custance. Is all your delight and joy
In whisking and ramping abroad, like a Tom-boy?
Tib. Talk. Forsooth, these were there too, Annot and Truepenny.
Truepenny. Yea, but ye alone took it, ye cannot deny.