Siddons and Her Maid

Siddons. I leave, and unreluctant, the repast:
The herb of China is its crown at last.
Maiden! hast thou a thimble in thy gear?
Maid. Yes, missus, yes.
Siddons. Then, maiden, place it here,
With penetrated penetrating eyes.
Maid. Mine? missus! are they?
Siddons. Child! thou art unwise.
Of needles', not of woman's, eyes I spake.
Maid. O dear me! missus! what a sad mistake!
Siddons. Now canst thou tell me what was that which led
Athenian Theseus into labyrinth dread?
Maid. He never told me: I can't say, not I,
Unless, mayhap, 'twas curiosity.
Siddons. Fond maiden!
Maid. No, upon my conscience, madam
If I was fond of 'em I might have had 'em.
Siddons. Avoid! avaunt! beshrew me! 'tis in vain
That Shakespeare's language germinates again.