Val. Ye wrong my tender love now, even my service,
Nothing accepted, nothing stuck between us
And our intire affections but this woman,
This I beseech ye friend.
Fran. It is a jewel,
I do confess, would make a Thief, but never
Of him that's so much yours, and bound your servant,
That were a base ingratitude.
Val. Ye are noble,
'Pray be acquainted with her, keep your way, Sir,
My Cousin and my Sister.
Alice. Ye are most welcome.
Mary. If any thing in our poor powers, fair Sir,
To render ye content, and liberal welcome
May but appear, command it.
Alice. Ye shall find us
Happy in our performance.
Fran. The poor Servant
Of both your goodnesses presents his service.
Val. Come, no more Complement; Custom has made it
Dull, old, and tedious; ye are once more welcome
As your own thoughts can make ye, and the same ever.
And so we'll in to ratifie it.
Hyl. Hark ye, Valentine:
Is wild Oats yet come over?
Val. Yes, with me, Sir.