Mood. No blood shed: but, as I told you, a most damnable tragedy.
Warn. A tragedy! I'll be hanged if he does not mean a stratagem.
Mood. Jack sauce! if I say it is a tragedy, it shall be a tragedy, in spite of you; teach your grandam how to piss. What! I hope I am old enough to spout English with you, sir.
Sir John. But what was the reason you came not after me?
Mood. 'Twas well I did not; I'll promise you, there were those would have made bold with mistress Bride; and if she had stirred out of doors, there were whipsters abroad, i'faith, padders of maidenheads, that would have trussed her up, and picked the lock of her affections, ere a man could have said, what's this? But, by good luck, I had warning of it by a friend's letter.
Sir John. The remedy for all such dangers is easy; you may send for a parson, and have the business despatched at home.
Mood. A match, i'faith; do you provide a domine, and I'll go tell her our resolutions, and hearten her up against the day of battle.
[Exit.
Sir John. Now I think on't, this letter must needs come from Sir Martin; a plot of his, upon my life, to hinder our marriage.
Warn. I see, sir, you'll still mistake him for a wit; but I'm much deceived, if that letter came not from another hand.
Sir John. From whom, I pr'ythee?