[056] Ros. Jove, Jove! this shepherd’s passion
[057] Is much upon my fashion.
[058] Touch. And mine; but it grows something stale with me.
[059] Cel. I pray you, one of you question yond man
060 If he for gold will give us any food:
I faint almost to death.
Touch.
Holla, you clown!
Ros. Peace, fool: he’s not thy kinsman.
Cor.