Mont. If you could be so weak to love a fall'n man,
He must deserve more than I ever can,
Or ever shall (dear Lady;) look but this way
Upon that Lord, and you will tell me then
Your eyes are no true choosers of good men.
Ami. Do you love him truly?
Lam. Yes my Lord, I will obey him truly, for I'll marry him, and justly think he that has so well serv'd me with his obedience, being born to greatness, must use me nobly of necessity, when I shall serve him.
Ami. 'Twere a deep sin to cross ye, noble Montague,
I wish ye all content, and am as happy
In my friends good as it were meerly mine.
Mont. Your Lordship does ill to give up your right;
I am not capable of this great goodness,
There sits my wife that holds my troth.
Cha. I'll end all, I wooed you for my Lady, and now give up my Title, alas poor wench, my aims are lower far.
Mont. How's this sweet-heart?
Lami. Sweet-heart 'tis so, the drift was mine to hide
My purpose till it struck home.
Omnes. [God g]ive you joy.
Lami. Prethee leave wondring, by this kiss I'll have thee.