She doth descry thee;
And I defy thee
To a mortal fight;
And so, miller, good night.
And now, sweet Joan,
Be it openly known
Thou art my own.
CLACK. Well, Grim, since thou art so collier-like choleric—
GRIM. Miller, I will not be mealy-mouth'd.
CLACK. I'll give thee the fewer words now, because the next time we meet, I'll pay thee all in dry blows. Carry coals[447] at a collier's hands! if I do, let my mill be drowned up in water, and I hanged in the roof.
JOAN. And if thou lov'st me, Grim, forbear him now.
GRIM. If I love thee! dost thou doubt of that? nay, rip me up, and look into my heart, and thou shalt see thy own face pictured there as plainly as in the proudest looking-glass in all Croydon. If I love thee! then, tears, gush out, and show my love.
CLACK. What, Master Parson, are you there? You remember you promised to win Joan for my own wearing?
SHO. I warrant thee, Clack, but now begone;
Leave me to work that here alone.
CLACK. Well, farewell, Master Shorthose; be true when you are trusted.
[Exit CLACK.
SHO. She shall be neither his nor thine,
For I intend to make her mine.