Brun. Lecure, the cup; here to the son we hope
This night shall be an Embrion.
Thier. You have nam'd
A blessing that I most desir'd, I pledge you;
Give me a larger cup, that is too little
Unto so great a god.
Brun. Nay, then you wrong me,
Follow as I began.
Thier. Well as you please.
Brun. Is't done?
Lecu. Unto your wish I warrant you,
For this night I durst trust him with my Mother.
Thier. So 'tis gone round, lights.
Brun. Pray you use my service.
Ordel. 'Tis that which I shall ever owe you, Madam,
And must have none from you, pray [you] pardon me.
Thier. Good rest to all.