Marg. I like the new tire within excellently, if the hair were a thought browner; and your gown’s a most rare fashion, i’ faith. I saw the Duchess of Milan’s gown that 015 they praise so.
Hero. O, that exceeds, they say.
[017] Marg. By my troth’s but a night-gown in respect of [018] yours,—cloth o’ gold, and cuts, and laced with silver, set [019] with pearls, down sleeves, side sleeves, and skirts, round 020 underborne with a bluish tinsel: but for a fine, quaint, graceful and excellent fashion, yours is worth ten on’t.
Hero. God give me joy to wear it! for my heart is exceeding heavy.
Marg. ’Twill be heavier soon by the weight of a man.
025 Hero. Fie upon thee! art not ashamed?
Marg. Of what, lady? of speaking honourably? Is not marriage honourable in a beggar? Is not your lord honourable without marriage? I think you would have me [029] say, ‘saving your reverence, a husband:’ an bad thinking do 030 not wrest true speaking, I’ll offend nobody: is there any harm in ‘the heavier for a husband’? None, I think, an it be the right husband and the right wife; otherwise ’tis light, and not heavy: ask my Lady Beatrice else; here she comes.
Enter Beatrice.
[034] Hero. Good morrow, coz.
035 Beat. Good morrow, sweet Hero.