And kiss thy fair large ears, my gentle joy.
005 Bot. Where’s Peaseblossom?
Peas. Ready.
[007] Bot. Scratch my head, Peaseblossom. Where’s Mounsieur Cobweb?
Cob. Ready.
[010] Bot. Mounsieur Cobweb, good mounsieur, get you your weapons in your hand, and kill me a red-hipped humble-bee on the top of a thistle; and, good mounsieur, bring me the honey-bag. Do not fret yourself too much in the action, mounsieur; and, good mounsieur, have a care the honey-bag 015 break not; I would be loth to have you overflown with a honey-bag, signior. Where’s Mounsieur Mustardseed.
Mus. Ready.
[018] Bot. Give me your neaf, Mounsieur Mustardseed. Pray you, leave your courtesy, good mounsieur.
020 Mus. What’s your will?
[021] Bot. Nothing, good mounsieur, but to help Cavalery [022] Cobweb to scratch. I must to the barber’s, mounsieur; for [023] methinks I am marvellous hairy about the face; and I am [024] such a tender ass, if my hair do but tickle me, I must scratch.