Un. That's somewhat yet, when charge comes on. Thy hand! a wife can be but a wife: it shall cost me 500 pounds but ile make thee a Ladie in earnest.
Enter Sir Francis and Surgeon.
Ri. How ist, Sir Francis?
Fra. My Surgeon sayes no danger; when you please, I may venture, Sir, to London.
Ri. No hast now.
Cou. Not to-night, Sir; wee must have revells and you salute my Bride.
Un. And mine.
Tho. A knights Daughter and heire.
Fra. May all joy thrive upon your Loves. —Then you are cosend of your Mistres, Mounseir?
Do. But your nephew knowes I have met with my match. Some bodie has been put to the sword.