Why should I, mother? Poor birds they are not set for. My father is not dead, for all your saying.

Thou speak’st with all thy wit; and yet, i’ faith, With wit enough for thee.

Now, God help thee, poor monkey! But how wilt thou do for a father?

Bless you, fair dame! I am not to you known, Though in your state of honour I am perfect. I doubt some danger does approach you nearly: If you will take a homely man’s advice, Be not found here; hence, with your little ones. To fright you thus, methinks, I am too savage; To do worse to you were fell cruelty, Which is too nigh your person. Heaven preserve you! I dare abide no longer. Exit.