Cit. Peace Conny, Thou shalt see him took down too I warrant thee: here's Luce's Father come now.
Old Mer. As you came from Walsingam, from the Holy Land, there met you not with my true love by the way as you came.
Mer. O Master Merry-thought! my Daughters gone,
This mirth becomes you not, my Daughter's gone.
Old Mer. Why an if she be, what care I?
Or let her come, or go, or tarry.
Merch. Mock not my misery, it is your Son,
Whom I have made my own, when all forsook him,
Has stoln my only joy, my child away.
Old Mer. He set her on a milk white Steed, and himself upon a gray,
He never turn'd his face again, but he bore her quite away.
Merch. Unworthy of the kindness I have shewn
To thee, and thine: too late, I well perceive
Thou art consenting to my Daughters loss.
Old Mer. Your Daughter, what a-stirs here wi' y'r daughter? Let her go, think no more on her, but sing loud. If both my sons were on the gallows, I would sing down, down, down: they fall down, and arise they never shall.
Merch. Oh might I behold her once again,
And she once more embrace her aged sire.
Old Mer. Fie, how scurvily this goes: and she once more embrace her aged sire? you'll make a dog on her, will ye; she cares much for her aged sire, I warrant you. She cares not for her Daddy, nor she cares not for her Mammy. For she is, she is, she is[, she is] my Lord of Low-gaves Lassie.