[101] Boyet. Who is the suitor? who is the suitor?
Ros.
Shall I teach you to know?
Boyet. Ay, my continent of beauty.
Ros.
Why, she that bears the bow.
Finely put off!
Boyet. My lady goes to kill horns; but, if thou marry,
105 Hang me by the neck, if horns that year miscarry.
Finely put on!