LEI. O, for a barber at the time of need,
Or one of these that dresses periwigs,
To deck my grey head with a youthful hair!
But I must to't. Matilda, thus it is!
Say, can you love me? I am Wigmore's son.
MAT. My cousin said he look'd like Ganymede;
But you, but you—
LEI. But I, but I, you say,
Am rather like old Chremes in a play[309];
But that's a nice objection: I am he,
But by attorneyship made deputy.
MAT. He's never like to speed well all his life,
That by attorney sues to win a wife:
But grant you are, whom you seem nothing like,
Young Wigmore, the heir to this noble lord—
He for his son hath sent us ne'er a word.
OLD B. If you grant love, when [that] his son doth woo,
Then in your jointure he'll send, say, and do.
YOUNG B. And for a doer, cousin, take my word:
Look for a good egg, he was a good bird;
Cock o' the game, i' faith, [O,] never fear.
MAT. Ay, but I fear the match will fall out ill,
Because he says his son is named Will.
FITZ. And why, good daughter? hath some palmister,
Some augur, or some dreaming calculator
(For such, I know, you often hearken to),
Been prating 'gainst the name? go to, go to;
Do not believe them. Leicester, fall to woo.
MAT. I must believe my father; and 'tis you
That, if I ought misdid, reprov'd me still,
And chiding said, "You're wedded to your will."
FITZ. God, for thy mercy! have ye catch'd me there?
Wigmore is William, woman. Leicester, speak:
Thou art the simplest wooer in the world.