Gov.  You dare not curse him.

Cel.  Prethee do not abuse me:  is he come home indeed?  For I would now with all my heart believe thee.

Gov.  Nay, you may chuse:  alas, I deal for strangers, That send ye scurvie musty Gowns, stale Liveries:  I have my tricks.

Cel.  ’Tis a good gown, a handsome one; I did but jest; where is he?

Gov.  He that sent it—­

Cel.  How? he that sent it? is’t come to that again?  Thou canst not be so foolish:  prethee speak out, I may mistake thee.

Gov.  I said he that sent it.

Cel.  Curse o’ my life:  why dost thou vex me thus? 
I know thou meanest Demetrius, dost thou not? 
I charge thee speak truth:  if it be any other,
Thou knowst the charge he gave thee, and the justice
His anger will’inflift, if e’re he know this,
As know he shall, he shall, thou spightfull woman,
Thou beastly woman; and thou shalt know too late too,
And feel too sensible, I am no ward,
No sale stuff for your money Merchants that sent if? 
Who dare send me, or how durst thou, thou—­

Gov.  What you please:  For this is ever the reward of service.  The Prince shall bring the next himself.

Cel.  ’Tis strange That you should deal so peevishly:  beshrew ye, You have put me in a heat.

Gov.  I am sure ye have kill’d me:  I ne’re receiv’d such language:  I can but wait upon ye, And be your drudge; keep a poor life to serve ye.

Cel.  You know my nature is too easie, Governess, And you know now, I am sorry too:  how does he?

Gov.  O God, my head.

Cel.  Prethee be well, and tell me,
Did he speak of me, since he came? nay, see now,
If thou wilt leave this tyranny? good sweet governess,
Did he but name his Celia? look upon me,
Upon my faith I meant no harm:  here, take this,
And buy thy self some trifles:  did he good wench?

Gov.  He loves ye but too dearly.

Cel.  That’s my good Governess.

Gov.  There’s more cloaths making for ye.

Cel.  More cloaths?

Gov.  More:  Richer and braver; I can tell ye that news; And twenty glorious things.

Cel.  To what use Sirrah?

Gov.  Ye are too good for our house now:  we poor wretches Shall lose the comfort of ye.

Cel.  No, I hope not.

Gov.  For ever lose ye Lady.

Cel.  Lose me? wherefore?  I hear of no such thing.

Gov.  ’Tis sure it must be so:  You must shine now at Court:  such preparation, Such hurry, and such hanging rooms—­

Cel.  To th’ Court wench?  Was it to th’ Court thou saidst?

Gov.  You’l find it so.

Cel.  Stay, stay, this cannot be.

Gov.  I say it must be:  I hope to find ye still the same good Lady.