Lam. My Lord, such sorrow cannot be suspected:
Here take your honoured wife, and joyn your hands.
----She hath married you again:
And Gentlemen, I do invite you all,
This night to take my house, where on the morrow,
To heighten more the reconciling feast,
I'll make my self a Husband and a guest. [Exeunt.
Actus Quintus. Scæna Prima.
Enter Montague, and Charlotte.
Charl. Well now I am sure you are mine.
Mont. I am sure I am glad
I have one to own then; you'll find me honest
As these days go, enough; poor without question,
Which beggars hold a virtue; give me meat, and I
Shall do my work, else knock my shooes off,
And turn me out again.
Char. You are a merry fellow.
Mont. I have no great cause.
Char. Yes, thy love to me.
Mont. That's as we make our game.