owl. I have haunted them, Inn after Inn, booth after
booth, yet cannot find them: ha, yonder they are;
that's she. I hope to God tis she! nay, I know tis she
now, for she treads her shoe a little awry.

LANCELOT.
Where is this Inn? we are past it, Daffodil.

DAFFODIL.
The good sign is here, sir, but the back gate is before.

CIVET.
Save you, sir. I pray, may I borrow a piece of a word
with you?

DAFFODIL.
No pieces, sir.

CIVET.
Why, then, the whole. I pray, sir, what may yonder
gentlewomen be?

DAFFODIL.
They may be ladies, sir, if the destinies and mortalities
work.

CIVET.
What's her name, sir?

DAFFODIL.