[_Exit Servant._ How is this?
_Kath._ I came to tell you so, but fear'd your anger-- _Selby._ It was ill done though of this Mistress Frampton, This forward Widow.

But a ride's poor loss Imports not much.

In to your chamber, love, Where you with music may beguile the hour, While I am tossing over dusty tomes, Till our most reasonable friend returns.
_Kath_.

I am all obedience.

[_Exit_ KATHERINE.
_Selby_.