paid for it? who starches you? and entreat you to help 'em to some
pure laundresses out of the city.

Chloe. O Cupid!--Give me my fan, and my mask too.--And will the
lords, and the poets there, use one well too, lady?

Cyth. Doubt not of that; you shall have kisses from them, go
pit-pat, pit-pat, pit-pat, upon your lips, as thick as stones out
of slings at the assault of a city. And then your ears will be so
furr'd with the breath of their compliments, that you cannot catch
cold of your head, if you would, in three winters after.

Chloe. Thank you, sweet lady. O heaven! and how must one behave
herself amongst 'em? You know all.

Cyth. Faith, impudently enough, mistress Chloe, and well enough.
Carry not too much under thought betwixt yourself and them; nor
your city-mannerly word, forsooth, use it not too often in any
case; but plain, Ay, madam, and no, madam: nor never say, your
lordship, nor your honour; but, you, and you, my lord, and my lady:
the other they count too simple and minsitive. And though they
desire to kiss heaven with their titles, yet they will count them
fools that give them too humbly.

Chloe. O intolerable, Jupiter! by my troth, lady, I would not for a
world but you had lain in my house; and, i'faith, you shall not pay
a farthing for your board, nor your chambers.

Cyth. O, sweet mistress Chloe! Chloe. I'faith you shall not, lady;
nay, good lady, do not offer it.