Now, good sweet nurse⁠—O Lord, why look’st thou sad? Though news be sad, yet tell them merrily; If good, thou shamest the music of sweet news By playing it to me with so sour a face.

I am a-weary, give me leave awhile: Fie, how my bones ache! what a jaunt have I had!

I would thou hadst my bones, and I thy news. Nay, come, I pray thee, speak; good, good nurse, speak.

Jesu, what haste? can you not stay awhile? Do you not see that I am out of breath?

How art thou out of breath, when thou hast breath To say to me that thou art out of breath? The excuse that thou dost make in this delay Is longer than the tale thou dost excuse. Is thy news good, or bad? answer to that; Say either, and I’ll stay the circumstance: Let me be satisfied, is’t good or bad?

No, no: but all this did I know before. What says he of our marriage? what of that?