Hum. Right worshipful and my beloved friend
And Father dear, this matter's at an end.
Merch. 'Tis well, it should be so, I'm glad the Girl
Is found so tractable.
Hum. Nay, she must whirl
From hence, and you must wink: for so I say,
The story tells to morrow before day.
Wife. George, dost thou think in thy conscience now 'twill be a match? tell me but what thou think'st sweet Rogue, thou seest the poor Gentleman (dear heart) how it labours and throbs I warrant you, to be at rest: I'll go move the Father for't.
Cit. No, no, I prethee sit still Honey-suckle, thou'lt spoil all; if he deny him, I'll bring half a dozen good fellows my self, and in the shutting of an evening knock't up, and there's an end.
Wife. I'll buss thee for that I'faith boy; well George, well you have been a wag in your days I warrant you: but God forgive you, and I do with all my heart.
Mer. How was it Son? you told me that to morrow
Before day break, you must convey her hence.
Hum. I must, I must, and thus it is agreed,
Your Daughter rides upon a brown-bay Steed,
I on a Sorrel, which I bought of Brian,
The honest Host of the red roaring Lion
In Waltham situate: then if you may,
Consent in seemly sort, lest by delay,
The fatal Sisters come, and do the office,
And then you'll sing another Song.
Merch. Alas.
Why should you be thus full of grief to me,
That do as willing as your self agree
To any thing so it be good and fair?
Then steal her when you will, if such a pleasure
Content you both, I'll sleep and never see it,
To make your joys more full: but tell me why
You may not here perform your marriage?
Wife. Gods blessing o'thy soul, old man, i'faith thou art loth to part true hearts: I see a has her, George, and I'm as glad on't; well, go thy ways Humphrey for London, and I should say the Suburbs too, I should not lie: why dost not thou rejoyce with me George?