Wal. Be it so—Your hand again, good Master Trueworth!
I am sorry I did pain you.
True. It is thine, sir.
[They go out.]
SCENE III.—Sir William Fondlove’s House.—A Room.
[Enter Sir William Fondlove.]
Sir Wil. At sixty-two, to be in leading-strings,
Is an old child—and with a daughter, too!
Her mother held me ne’er in check so strait
As she. I must not go but where she likes,
Nor see but whom she likes, do anything
But what she likes!—A slut bare twenty-one!
Nor minces she commands! A brigadier
More coolly doth not give his orders out
Than she! Her waiting-maid is aide-de-camp;
My steward adjutant; my lacqueys serjeants;
That bring me her high pleasure how I march
And counter-march—when I’m on duty—when
I’m off—when suits it not to tell it me
Herself—“Sir William, thus my mistress says!”
As saying it were enough—no will of mine
Consulted! I will marry. Must I serve,
Better a wife, my mistress, than a daughter!
And yet the vixen says, if I do marry,
I’ll find she’ll rule my wife, as well as me!
[Enter Trueworth.]
Ah, Master Trueworth! Welcome, Master Trueworth!
True. Thanks, sir; I am glad to see you look so well!
Sir Wil. Ah, Master Trueworth, when one turns the hill,
’Tis rapid going down! We climb by steps;
By strides we reach the bottom. Look at me,
And guess my age.