SCENE III.—At Wakefield.
Enter George-a-Greene.
Geo. The sweet content of men that live in love
Breeds fretting humours in a restless mind;
And fancy, being check'd by fortune's spite,
Grows too impatient in her sweet desires;
Sweet to those men whom love leads on to bliss,
But sour to me whose hap is still amiss.
Enter Jenkin.
Jen. Marry, amen, sir.
Geo. Sir, what do you cry "amen" at?
Jen. Why, did not you talk of love?
Geo. How do you know that?
Jen. Well, though I say it that should not say it, there are few fellows in our parish so nettled with love as I have been of late.
Geo. Sirrah, I thought no less, when the other morning you rose so early to go to your wenches. Sir, I had thought you had gone about my honest business.