Mil. Well, sister, those that scorn their nest, oft fly with a sick wing.
Gir. Bow-bell! Alas, poor Mill, when I am a lady, I’ll pray for thee yet i’faith; nay, and I’ll vouchsafe to call thee sister Mill still; for though thou art not likely to be a lady as I am, yet surely thou art a creature of God’s making, and may’st peradventure be saved as soon as I (does he come?) And ever and anon she doubled in her song.
Mil. Now (lady’s my comfort) what a profane ape’s here!
Enter Sir Petronel Flash, Mr. Touchstone, and Mrs. Touchstone.
Gir. Is my knight come? O the lord, my band! Sister do my cheeks look well? Give me a little box o’ the ear that I may seem to blush. Now, now! so, there, there! here he is! O my dearest delight! Lord, Lord! and how does my knight?
Touchstone. Fie, with more modesty.
Gir. Modesty! why, I am no citizen now. Modesty! am I not to be married? You’re best to keep me modest, now I am to be a lady.
Sir Petronel. Boldness is a good fashion, and court-like.
Gir. Aye, in a country lady I hope it is, as I shall be. And how chance ye came no sooner, knight?
Sir Pet. Faith, I was so entertained in the progress with one Count Epernoun, a Welsh knight: we had a match at baloon too with my Lord Whackum for four crowns.