M. Merry. Ah! well, I say—
C. Custance. It is Roister Doister, doubtless.
M. Merry. Will ye never leave this dissimulation?
Ye know him not?
C. Custance. But by imagination;
For no man there is, but a very dolt and lout,
That to woo a widow would so go about.
He shall never have me his wife, while he do live.
M. Merry. Then will he have you if he may, so mot I thrive;
And he biddeth you send him word by me,