M. Merry. Do ye feel no pangs of dotage? Answer me right.
C. Custance. I doat so, that I make but one sleep all the night.
But what need all these words?
M. Merry. O Jesus! will ye see
What dissembling creatures these same women be? [Aside.
The gentleman ye wot of, whom ye do so love,
That ye would fain marry him, if he durst it move,
Among other rich widows which are of him glad,
Lest ye for lesing of him perchance might run mad,
Is now contented that, upon your suit making,