Part 29

DAUGHTER. Hee’l dance the Morris twenty mile an houre, And that will founder the best hobby-horse (If I have any skill) in all the parish, And gallops to the turne of LIGHT A’ LOVE: What thinke you of this horse?

IAILOR. Having these vertues, I thinke he might be broght to play at Tennis.

DAUGHTER. Alas, that’s nothing.

IAILOR. Can he write and reade too?

DAUGHTER. A very faire hand, and casts himselfe th’accounts Of all his hay and provender: That Hostler Must rise betime that cozens him. You know The Chestnut Mare the Duke has?

IAILOR. Very well.

DAUGHTER. She is horribly in love with him, poore beast, But he is like his master, coy and scornefull.

IAILOR. What dowry has she?

DAUGHTER. Some two hundred Bottles, And twenty strike of Oates; but hee’l ne’re have her; He lispes in’s neighing, able to entice A Millars Mare: Hee’l be the death of her.

DOCTOR. What stuffe she utters!

IAILOR. Make curtsie; here your love comes.

WOOER. Pretty soule, How doe ye? that’s a fine maide, ther’s a curtsie!

DAUGHTER. Yours to command ith way of honestie. How far is’t now to’th end o’th world, my Masters?

DOCTOR. Why, a daies Iorney, wench.

DAUGHTER. Will you goe with me?

WOOER. What shall we doe there, wench?

DAUGHTER. Why, play at stoole ball: What is there else to doe?

WOOER. I am content, If we shall keepe our wedding there.

DAUGHTER. Tis true: For there, I will assure you, we shall finde Some blind Priest for the purpose, that will venture To marry us, for here they are nice, and foolish; Besides, my father must be hang’d to morrow And that would be a blot i’th businesse. Are not you Palamon?

WOOER. Doe not you know me?

DAUGHTER. Yes, but you care not for me; I have nothing But this pore petticoate, and too corse Smockes.

WOOER. That’s all one; I will have you.

DAUGHTER. Will you surely?

WOOER. Yes, by this faire hand, will I.

DAUGHTER. Wee’l to bed, then.

WOOER. Ev’n when you will. [Kisses her.]

DAUGHTER. O Sir, you would faine be nibling.

WOOER. Why doe you rub my kisse off?