360 Speed. What then?
Launce. Why, then will I tell thee—that thy master stays for thee at the North-gate?
Speed. For me?
Launce. For thee! ay, who art thou? he hath stayed 365 for a better man than thee.
Speed. And must I go to him?
Launce. Thou must run to him, for thou hast stayed so long, that going will scarce serve the turn.
Speed. Why didst not tell me sooner? pox [of] your 370 love-letters! [Exit.]
Launce. Now will he be swinged for reading my letter,—an unmannerly slave, that will thrust himself into secrets!
I’ll after, to rejoice in the boy’s correction. [Exit.]