CLARE.
For look you, wife, the riotous old knight
Hath o'rerun his annual revenue
In keeping jolly Christmas all the year:
The nostrils of his chimney are still stuft
With smoke, more chargeable then Cane-tobacco;
His hawks devour his fattest dogs, whilst simple,
His leanest curs eat him hounds carrion.
Besides, I heard of late, his younger brother,
A Turkey merchant, hath sure suck'de the knight
By means of some great losses on the sea,
That, you conceive me, before God all is naught,
His seat is weak: thus, each thing rightly scanned,
You'll se a flight, wife, shortly of his land.
MILLISCENT.
Treason to my hearts truest sovereign:
How soon is love smothered in foggy gain!
DORCAS.
But how shall we prevent this dangerous match?
CLARE.
I have a plot, a trick, and this is it-
Under this colour I'll break off the match:
I'll tell the knight that now my mind is changd
For marrying of my daughter, for I intend
To send her unto Cheston Nunry.
MILLISCENT.
O me accurst!
CLARE.
There to become a most religious Nun.
MILLISCENT.
I'll first be buried quick.
CLARE.
To spend her beauty in most private prayers.
MILLISCENT.
I'll sooner be a sinner in forsaking
Mother and father.
CLARE.
How dost like my plot?