Sir Hu. Madam, how blest am I To see you thus past hope recovered, My mirth at your faire wedding shall demonstrate.
Sir Gef. I will daunce too, that certain, though I breake my legs or get the tissick.
[Suc.[139] Doe you know me, Sir?
Bon. Yes, very well, sir.
Suc. You are married, sir.
Bon. I, what of that?
Suc. Nothing, but send you Joy, sir?]
Lady. But where's my Steward? hees not hangd I hope: This mirth admits no Tragedy.
Gri. Behold the figure.
Alex. I crave forgivenesse.