Ham. Hold, fool! Sirs, he shall do no wrong.
Will my Jane leave me thus, and break her faith?
Firk. Yea, sir! She must, sir! She shall, sir! What then? Mend it!
Hodge. Hark, fellow Ralph, follow my counsel: set the wench in the midst, and let her choose her man, and let her be his woman.
Jane. Whom should I choose? Whom should my thoughts affect
But him whom Heaven hath made to be my love?
Thou art my husband, and these humble weeds
Makes thee more beautiful than all his wealth.
Therefore, I will but put off his attire,
Returning it into the owner’s hand,
And after ever be thy constant wife.
Hodge. Not a rag, Jane! The law’s on our side; he that sows in another man’s ground, forfeits his harvest. Get thee home, Ralph; follow him, Jane; he shall not have so much as a busk-point[101] from thee.
Firk. Stand to that, Ralph; the appurtenances are thine own. Hammon, look not at her!
Serv. O, swounds, no!
Firk. Blue coat, be quiet, we’ll give you a new livery else; we’ll make Shrove Tuesday Saint George’s Day for you. Look not, Hammon, leer not! I’ll firk you! For thy head now, one glance, one sheep’s eye, anything, at her! Touch not a rag, lest I and my brethren beat you to clouts.
Serv. Come, Master Hammon, there’s no striving here.