M. Merry. On!
R. Roister. Soft. Now forward set.
Enter C. Custance.
C. Custance. What business have we here? Out, alas, alas!
R. Roister. Ha, ha, ha, ha, ha!
Didst thou see that, Merrygreek, how afraid she was?
Didst thou see how she fled apace out of my sight?
Ah, good sweet Custance! I pity her, by this light.
M. Merry. That tender heart of yours will mar altogether;
Thus will ye be turned with wagging of a feather.