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 a.s.sure 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?
DAUGHTER.
Tis a sweet one, And will perfume me finely against the wedding.
Is not this your Cosen Arcite?
DOCTOR.
Yes, sweet heart, And I am glad my Cosen Palamon Has made so faire a choice.
DAUGHTER.
Doe you thinke hee"l have me?
DOCTOR.
Yes, without doubt.
DAUGHTER.
Doe you thinke so too?
IAILOR.
Yes.
DAUGHTER.
We shall have many children:--Lord, how y"ar growne!
My Palamon, I hope, will grow, too, finely, Now he"s at liberty: Alas, poore Chicken, He was kept downe with hard meate and ill lodging, But ile kisse him up againe.
[Emter a Messenger.]