Ran. Was fery exceeding dark, but here is high pumps, sure, here is two couple of cross-ways, and there was the street where Grace dwells. One hundred pound in mornings in round shillings, and wife worth one thousand, ere hur go to bed. Randall's fortunes comes tumbling in like lawyers' fees, huddle upon huddle.
Enter Moll.
Moll. O sweet Ancient, keep thy word and win my heart. They say a moonshine night is good to run away with another man's wife; but I am sure a dark night is best to steal away my father's daughter.
Ran. Mary.
Moll. O, are you come, sir? there's a box of land and livings, I know not what you call it.
Ran. Lands and livings?
Moll. Nay, nay; and we talk, we are undone. Do you not see the watch coming up Gracious Street yonder? This cross-way was the worst place we could have met at; but that is yours, and I am yours; but, good sir, do not blame me, that I so suddenly yielded to your love; alas! you know what a match on't I should have to-morrow else.
Ran. Hur means the scurvy Ancient. [Aside.
Moll. I' th' morning we shall be man and wife, and then—Alas, I am undone! the watch are hard upon us: go you back through Cornhill, I'll run round about the 'Change by the Church Corner, down Cateaton Street, and meet you at Bartholomew Lane end. [Exit.
Ran. Cat's Street was call hur? sure, Randalls was wrapped in['s][91] mother's smock.