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Marg. I like the new tire within excellently, if the hair were a thought browner; and your gown’s a most rare fashion, i’ faith. I saw the Duchess of Milan’s gown that they praise so.

Hero. O, that exceeds, they say.

Marg. By my troth ’s but a night-gown [in] respect of yours: cloth a’ gold and cuts, and lac’d with silver, set with pearls, down sleeves, side sleeves, and skirts, round underborne with a bluish tinsel; but for a fine, quaint, graceful, and excellent fashion, yours is worth ten on’t.

Hero. God give me joy to wear it, for my heart is exceeding heavy.

Marg. ’Twill be heavier soon by the weight of a man.

Hero. Fie upon thee, art not asham’d?

Marg. Of what, lady? of speaking honorably? Is not marriage honorable in a beggar? Is not your lord honorable without marriage? I think you would have me say, “saving your reverence, a husband.” And bad thinking do not wrest true speaking, I’ll offend nobody. Is there any harm in “the heavier for a husband”? None, I think, and it be the right husband and the right wife; otherwise ’tis light, and not heavy. Ask my Lady Beatrice else, here she comes.