Sir Wil. Then now, sirs, we have done, and take my thanks,
Which, with your charges, I will render you
Again to-morrow.
First Lawyer. Happy nuptials, sir.
[Lawyers go out.]
Sir Wil. Who passes there? Hoa! send my daughter to me,
And Master Wildrake too! I wait for them.
Bold work!—Without her leave to wait upon her,
And ask her go to church!—’Tis taking her
By storm! What else could move her yesterday
But jealousy? What causeth jealousy
But love? She’s mine the moment she receives
Conclusive proof, like this, that heart and soul,
And mind and person, I am all her own!
Heigh ho! These soft alarms are very sweet,
And yet tormenting too! Ha! Master Wildrake,
[Enter Wildrake.]
I am glad you’re ready, for I’m all in arms
To bear the widow off. Come! Don’t be sad;
All must go merrily, you know, to-day!—
She still doth bear him hard, I see! The girl
Affects him not, and Trueworth is at fault,
Though clear it is that he doth die for her. [Aside.]
Well, daughter?—So I see you’re ready too.
[Enter Constance.]
Why, what’s amiss with thee?
Phœbe. [Entering.] The coach is here.
Sir Wil. Come, Wildrake, offer her your arm.