Enter Boyet.
[080] Boyet. O, I am stabb’d with laughter! Where’s her Grace?
Prin. Thy news, Boyet?
Boyet.
Prepare, madam, prepare!
[082] Arm, wenches, arm! encounters mounted are
Against your peace: Love doth approach disguised,
Armed in arguments; you’ll be surprised:
085 Muster your wits; stand in your own defence;
Or hide your heads like cowards, and fly hence.