Sy. What may this be,
A Woman or a Devil?
Duch. 'Tis a Witch sure,
And by her means he came to untwist this Riddle.
Sil. That I am bound to her for my life, mine honor;
And many other thousand ways for comfort
I here confess: confess a promise too,
That what she would aske me to requite these favours,
Within the endeavour of my life to grant,
I would; and here I stand my words full master.
Bel. I wish no more: great Lady, witness with me,
The boon I crave for all my service to thee,
Is now to be thy wife, to grant me marriage.
Sil. How? for to marry thee? ask again woman,
Thou wilful woman, ask again.
Bel. No more Sir.
Sil. Ask Land, and Life.
Bel. I aske thee for a Husband.
Soto. Marry her, and beat her into Gun-powder,
She would make rare Crackers.
Sil. Ask a better fortune,
Thou art too old to marry: I a Soldier,
And always married to my sword.