BEROWNE.
White-handed mistress, one sweet word with thee.
PRINCESS.
Honey, and milk, and sugar: there is three.
BEROWNE.
Nay, then, two treys, an if you grow so nice,
Metheglin, wort, and malmsey. Well run, dice!
There’s half a dozen sweets.
PRINCESS.
Seventh sweet, adieu.
Since you can cog, I’ll play no more with you.
BEROWNE.
One word in secret.
PRINCESS.
Let it not be sweet.
BEROWNE.
Thou griev’st my gall.
PRINCESS.
Gall! Bitter.
BEROWNE.
Therefore meet.
[They converse apart.]