T. Trusty. Dame Custance, God ye save; and while my life shall last,
For my friend Goodluck's sake ye shall not send in waste.
C. Custance. He shall give you thanks.
T. Trusty. I will do much for his sake.
C. Custance. But alack! I fear great displeasure shall he take.
T. Trusty. Wherefore?
C. Custance. For a foolish matter.
T. Trusty. What is your cause?
C. Custance. I am ill accumbred with a couple of daws.
T. Trusty. Nay, weep not, woman; but tell me what your cause is.