May you never more enjoy the light, &c.
Is not this a fine Song?
BROTHER.
O, a very fine one.
DAUGHTER.
I can sing twenty more.
BROTHER.
I thinke you can.
DAUGHTER.
Yes, truely, can I; I can sing the Broome,
And Bony Robin. Are not you a tailour?
BROTHER.
Yes.
DAUGHTER.
Wher’s my wedding Gowne?
BROTHER.
Ile bring it to morrow.
DAUGHTER.
Doe, very rarely; I must be abroad else
To call the Maides, and pay the Minstrels,
For I must loose my Maydenhead by cock-light;
Twill never thrive else.
[Singes.] O faire, oh sweete, &c.