Lent. That I would claim with you, faire Ladie; Hark in your eare, nay, I must conclude with you.
Flau. Y'oule not bite, my Lord?
Len. No, of my faith, my Lady.
Tere. Thus far, my love, our hopes have good successe; One storme more past, my griefes were much the less.
Tul. Friendship itself hath beene more prodigal Then a bolde face could begge upon a friend.
Lent. Why, then theres a bargaine.
Flav. Strike hands upon the same, I am yours to commaund.
Ile love with ye, ile lie with ye, ile love with all my heart,
With all my strength, with all my power and virtue:
Seald and delivered in the presence of us—
Lent. Marcus Tullius Cicero. Then you deliver this as your act and deede?
Flav. I doe, and scale it with this—
Lent. Why, well said, tis done; see, we begin but now, And are as ready to goe to Church as you. What needes further ceremony?