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RALPH. Comes not sir squire again?

GEORGE. Right courteous knight,

 Your squire doth come, and with him comes the lady,

 For and the Squire of Damsels, as I take it.

[Enter Tim, Mistress Merrythought and Michael.]

RALPH. Madam, if any service or devoir

 Of a poor errant knight may right your wrongs,

 Command it; I am prest to give you succour;

 For to that holy end I bear my armour.

MIST. Alas, sir, I am a poor gentlewoman,

 and I have lost my money in this forest!

RALPH. Desert, you would say, lady; and not lost

 Whilst I have sword and lance. Dry up your tears,

 Which ill befit the beauty of that face,

 And tell the story, if I may request it,

 Of your disastrous fortune.

MIST. Out, alas! I left a thousand pound,

 a thousand pound, e'en all the money I had

 laid up for this youth, upon