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Ros.

That was the way to make his godhead wax,

For he hath been five thousand year a boy.

Kath.

Ay, and a shrowd unhappy gallows too.

Ros.

You’ll ne’er be friends with him, ’a kill’d your sister.

Kath.

He made her melancholy, sad, and heavy,

And so she died. Had she been light, like you,

Of such a merry, nimble, stirring spirit,

She might ’a’ been [a] grandam ere she died.

And so may you; for a light heart lives long.

Ros.

What’s your dark meaning, mouse, of this light word?

Kath.

A light condition in a beauty dark.

Ros.

We need more light to find your meaning out.

Kath.

You’ll mar the light by taking it in snuff;

Therefore I’ll darkly end the argument.

Ros.

Look what you do, you do it still i’ th’ dark.

Kath.

So do not you, for you are a light wench.

Ros.

Indeed I weigh not you, and therefore light.

Kath.

You weigh me not? O, that’s you care not for me.

Ros.

Great reason: for past care is still past cure.

Prin.

Well bandied both, a set of wit well played.

But, Rosaline, you have a favor too?