R. Roister. Yea, for were not I an husband for her fit?
Well, what should I now do?
M. Merry. I'faith, I cannot tell.
R. Roister. I will go home, and die.
M. Merry. Then shall I bid toll the bell?
R. Roister. No.
M. Merry. God have mercy on your soul: ah, good gentleman,
That e'er you should thus die for an unkind woman!
Will ye drink once, ere ye go?
R. Roister. No, no, I will none.