Host. Knight, thy breath hath the force of a woman, it takes me down; I am for the baser element of the kitchen: I retire like a valiant soldier, face point-blank to the foeman, or, like a courtier, that must not show his prince his posteriors: vanish to know my canvasadoes and my interrogatories, for I serve the good Duke of Norfolk. [Exit.
Clare. How doth my lady? are you not weary, madam?
Come hither, I must talk in private with you;
My daughter Millicent must not overhear. [Speaking low.
Mil. Ay, whispering? pray God it tend to my good!
Strange fear assails my heart, usurps my blood.
[Aside.
Clare. You know our meeting with the knight Mounchensey
Is to assure our daughter to his heir.
Dor. 'Tis without question. [Speaking low.
Clare. Two tedious winters have pass'd o'er, since first
These couple lov'd each other, and in passion
Glued first their naked hands with youthful moisture—
Just so long, on my knowledge.
Dor. And what of this?
Clare. This morning should my daughter lose her name,
And to Mounchensey's house convey our arms,
Quartered within his 'scutcheon: the affiance made
'Twixt him and her this morning should be seal'd.
Dor. I know it should.