FIFE.
And enter Night,
With Capa y Espada--and--pray heaven!
With but her lanthorn also.

ROS.
Ah, I doubt
To-night, if any, with a dark one--or
Almost burnt out after a month's consumption.
Well! well or ill, on horseback or afoot,
This is the gate that lets me into Poland;
And, sorry welcome as she gives a guest
Who writes his own arrival on her rocks
In his own blood--
Yet better on her stony threshold die,
Than live on unrevenged in Muscovy.

FIFE.
Oh, what a soul some women have--I mean
Some men--

ROS.
Oh, Fife, Fife, as you love me, Fife,
Make yourself perfect in that little part,
Or all will go to ruin!

FIFE.
Oh, I will,
Please God we find some one to try it on.