Of your wit's exercise, 'gainst you have occasion?
Madam--

LADY P: Go to, sir.

PER: Do you hear me, lady?
Why, if your knight have set you to beg shirts,
Or to invite me home, you might have done it
A nearer way, by far:

LADY P: This cannot work you
Out of my snare.

PER: Why, am I in it, then?
Indeed your husband told me you were fair,
And so you are; only your nose inclines,
That side that's next the sun, to the queen-apple.

LADY P: This cannot be endur'd by any patience.

[ENTER MOSCA.]

MOS: What is the matter, madam?

LADY P: If the Senate
Right not my quest in this; I'll protest them
To all the world, no aristocracy.

MOS: What is the injury, lady?