GRIPE. My daughter's mine to command; have I not brought her up to this? She shall have him. I'll rule the roost for that. I'll give her pounds and crowns, gold and silver. I'll weigh her down in pure angel gold. Say, man, is't a match?
PLOD-ALL.
Faith, I agree.
CHURMS. But, sir, if you give your daughter so large a dowry, you'll have some part of his land conveyed to her by jointure?
GRIPE.
Yes, marry, that I will, and we'll desire your help for conveyance.
PLOD-ALL. Ay, good Master Churms, and you shall be very well contented for your pains.
WILL CRICKET.
Ay, marry; that's it he looked for all this while. [Aside.
CHURMS.
Sir, I will do the best I can.
WILL CRICKET. But, landlord, I can tell you news, i' faith. There is one Sophos, a brave gentleman; he'll wipe your son Peter's nose of Mistress Lelia. I can tell you, he loves her well.
GRIPE.
Nay, I trow.
WILL CRICKET. Yes, I know, for I am sure I saw them close together at poop-noddy in her closet.