Alas, now, pray you, Work not so hard: I would the lightning had Burnt up those logs that you are enjoin’d to pile! Pray, set it down and rest you: when this burns, ’Twill weep for having wearied you. My father Is hard at study; pray now, rest yourself; He’s safe for these three hours.

O most dear mistress, The sun will set before I shall discharge What I must strive to do.

If you’ll sit down, I’ll bear your logs the while: pray, give me that; I’ll carry it to the pile.

No, precious creature; I had rather crack my sinews, break my back, Than you should such dishonour undergo, While I sit lazy by.