Rich. How do you? be not fearfull, for I hold my hands
Before my mouth, and speak, and so
My breath can never blast you.
Vio. 'Twas enough to use me ill, though you had never sought [me to mock me], why kneel you so far off, were not that gesture better us'd in prayer, had I dealt so with you, I should not sleep, till [God] and you had both forgiven me.
Rich. I do not mock, nor lives there such a villain
That can do any thing contemptible
To you, but I do kneel, because it is
An action very fit and reverent,
In presence of so pure a creature,
And so far off, as fearful to offend,
One too much wrong'd already.
Vio. You confess you did the fault, yet scorn to come,
So far as hither, to ask pardon for't;
Which I could willingly afford to come,
To you to grant, good Sir if you have
A better love, may you be blest together.
She shall not wish you better than I will,
I but offend you, there are all the Jewels
I stole, and all the love I ever had,
I leave behind with you, I'll [carry none]
To give another may the next maid you try
Love you no worse, nor be no worse than I.
Rich. Do not leave me yet for all my fault,
Search out the next things to impossible,
And put me on them when they are effected,
I may with better modesty receive
Forgiveness from you.
Vio. I will set no pennance,
To gain the great forgiveness you desire:
But to come hither and take me and it,
Or else I'll come and beg, so you will grant,
That you will be content to be forgiven.
Rich. Nay, I will come since [you [will] have it so,
And since you please to pardon me I hope
Free from infection, here I am by you;
A careless man, a breaker of my faith,
A lothsome drunkard; and in that wild fury:
A hunter after whores: I do beseech you,
To pardon all these faults, and take me up
An honest, sober, and a faithful man.
Vio. For [gods] sake, urge your faults no more, but mend,
All the forgiveness I can make you, is,
To love you, which I will do, and desire
Nothing but love again, which if I have not
Yet I will love you still.
Rich. Oh Women, that some one of you will take,
An everlasting pen into your hands:
And grave in paper which the writ shall make,
More lasting than the marble Monuments,
Your matchless virtues to posterities:
Which the defective race of envious man,
Strive to conceal.
Vio. Methinks I would not now for any thing,
But you had mist me, I have made a story,
Will serve to waste many a winters fire
When we are old, I'll [tell] my daughters then,
The miseries their Mother had in love:
And say, my girls be wiser, yet I would not
Have had more wit my self, take up those Jewels,
For I think I hear my fellows coming.
Enter the Milk-maids with their pails.
Madge. How dost thou now?
Vio. Why, very well I thank you, 'tis late, shall I haste home?
Nan. I prethee we shall be shent soundly.
Madge. Why does that railing man goe with us?
Vio. I prethee speak well of him, on my word,
He's an honest man.
Nan. There was never any so one's complexion, a Gentleman?
I'de be asham'd to have such a foul mouth. [Exeunt.
Enter Mother, Alexander, Andrugio, and his man Rowland.