CURTIS.
I prithee, good Grumio, tell me, how goes the world?
GRUMIO.
A cold world, Curtis, in every office but thine; and therefore fire. Do thy duty, and have thy duty, for my master and mistress are almost frozen to death.
CURTIS.
There’s fire ready; and therefore, good Grumio, the news.
GRUMIO.
Why, ‘Jack boy! ho, boy!’ and as much news as wilt thou.
CURTIS.
Come, you are so full of cony-catching.
GRUMIO.
Why, therefore, fire; for I have caught extreme cold. Where’s the cook? Is supper ready, the house trimmed, rushes strewed, cobwebs swept, the servingmen in their new fustian, their white stockings, and every officer his wedding-garment on? Be the Jacks fair within, the Jills fair without, and carpets laid, and everything in order?
CURTIS.
All ready; and therefore, I pray thee, news.
GRUMIO.
First, know my horse is tired; my master and mistress fallen out.
CURTIS.
How?
GRUMIO.
Out of their saddles into the dirt; and thereby hangs a tale.