MRS BAR. Ay, end what you begun! Villains, thieves,
Give me my daughter! will ye rob me of her?—
Help, help! they'll rob me here, they'll rob me here!
Enter MASTER BARNES and his men.
MR BAR. How now? what outcry's here? why, how now, woman?
MRS BAR. Why, Goursey's son, confederate[336] with this boy,
This wretch unnatural and undutiful,
Seeks hence to steal my daughter: will you suffer it?
Shall he, that's son to my arch-enemy,
Enjoy her? Have I brought her up to this?
O God, he shall not have her, no, he shall not!
MR BAR. I am sorry she knows it. [Aside.]—Hark ye, wife,
Let reason moderate your rage a little.
If you examine but his birth and living,
His wit and good behaviour, you will say,
Though that ill-hate make your opinion bad,
He doth deserve as good a wife as she.
MRS BAR. Why, will you give consent he shall enjoy her?
MR BAR. Ay, so that thy mind would agree with mine?
MRS BAR. My mind shall ne'er agree to this agreement.
Enter MISTRESS GOURSEY and COOMES.[337]
MR BAR. And yet it shall go forward:—but who's here?
What, Mistress Goursey! how knew she of this?