The same. A street.
Nay, we will slink away in supper-time, Disguise us at my lodging and return, All in an hour.
’Tis vile, unless it may be quaintly order’d, And better in my mind not undertook.
’Tis now but four o’clock: we have two hours To furnish us.
I know the hand: in faith, ’tis a fair hand; And whiter than the paper it writ on Is the fair hand that writ.
Hold here, take this: tell gentle Jessica I will not fail her; speak it privately. Go, gentlemen, Exit Launcelot . Will you prepare you for this masque to-night? I am provided of a torch-bearer.