Free. They have already almost the whole country.
Euph. But you shall see how now they'll propagate.
Free. Is such a marriage lawful?
Euph. Ah! good uncle,
Dispute not that, the church has nought in this;
Their lawyer is the priest that marries them,
The banns of matrimony are the indentures,
The bounds and landmarks are the ring that joins them.
Art. But there's no love at all.
Euph. Yes, pretty cousin,
If thou art read in amorous books, thou'lt find
That Cupid's arrow has a golden head;
And 'twas a golden shaft that wounded them.
Free. Well, thither we must go; but, prythee, nephew,
Forbear thy jesting there.
Euph. I warrant you;
I'll flatter the old lady, and persuade her
How well she looks: but when they go to bed,
I'll write their epitaph.
Free. How, man! their epitaph?
Their epithalamium thou mean'st.
Euph. No, sirs;
Over their marriage-bed I'll write their ages,
And only say, Here lies Sir Argent Scrape,
Together with his wife, the Lady Covet.
And whosoever reads it will suppose
The place to be a tomb, no marriage-bed.