ANNE.
No, not for all the riches under heaven.
OLD LADY.
’Tis strange. A threepence bowed would hire me,
Old as I am, to queen it. But I pray you,
What think you of a duchess? Have you limbs
To bear that load of title?
ANNE.
No, in truth.
OLD LADY.
Then you are weakly made. Pluck off a little.
I would not be a young count in your way
For more than blushing comes to. If your back
Cannot vouchsafe this burden, ’tis too weak
Ever to get a boy.
ANNE.
How you do talk!
I swear again I would not be a queen
For all the world.
OLD LADY.
In faith, for little England
You’d venture an emballing. I myself
Would for Caernarfonshire, although there longed
No more to th’ crown but that. Lo, who comes here?
Enter Lord Chamberlain.
CHAMBERLAIN.
Good morrow, ladies. What were’t worth to know
The secret of your conference?
ANNE.
My good lord,
Not your demand; it values not your asking.
Our mistress’ sorrows we were pitying.
CHAMBERLAIN.
It was a gentle business, and becoming
The action of good women. There is hope
All will be well.