PANDARUS.
Go to, sweet queen, go to—commends himself most affectionately to you—
HELEN.
You shall not bob us out of our melody. If you do, our melancholy upon your head!
PANDARUS.
Sweet queen, sweet queen; that’s a sweet queen, i’ faith.
HELEN.
And to make a sweet lady sad is a sour offence.
PANDARUS.
Nay, that shall not serve your turn; that shall it not, in truth, la. Nay, I care not for such words; no, no.—And, my lord, he desires you that, if the King call for him at supper, you will make his excuse.
HELEN.
My Lord Pandarus!
PANDARUS.
What says my sweet queen, my very very sweet queen?
PARIS.
What exploit’s in hand? Where sups he tonight?
HELEN.
Nay, but, my lord—
PANDARUS.
What says my sweet queen?—My cousin will fall out with you.