Arn. You are dispos'd.
Rut. You hope to Marry her; 'tis a lawful calling
And prettily esteem'd of, but take heed then,
Take heed dear Brother of a stranger fortune
Than e're you felt yet; fortune my foe is a friend to it.
Arn. 'Tis true I love, dearly, and truly love, A noble, vertuous, and most beauteous Maid, And am belov'd again.
Rut. That's too much o' Conscience, To love all these would run me out o' my wits.
Arn. Prethee give ear, I am to Marry her.
Rut. Dispatch it then, and I'le go call the Piper.
Arn. But O the wicked Custom of this Country, The barbarous, most inhumane, damned Custom.
Rut. 'Tis true, to marry is a Custom
I' the world; for look you Brother,
Wou'd any man stand plucking for the Ace of Harts,
With one pack of Cards all dayes on's life?
Arn. You do not Or else you purpose not to understand me.
Rut. Proceed, I will give ear.