If ye had, I could have told you her name now.
R. Roister. I was to blame indeed, but the next time perchance—
And she dwelleth in this house—
M. Merry. What, Christian Custance?
R. Roister. Except I have her to my wife, I, I shall run mad.
M. Merry. Nay, unwise perhaps; but I warrant you for mad.[49]
R. Roister. I am utterly dead, unless I have my desire.
M. Merry. Where be the bellows that blew this sudden fire?
R. Roister. I hear she is worth a thousand pound and more.