Host. He speaks like a bachelor of music; all in numbers. Knights, if I had known you would have let this covey of partridges sit thus long upon their knees under my signpost. I would have spread my door with coverlids.
Sir Arth. Well, sir, for this your sign was removed, was it?
Host. Faith, we followed the directions of the devil, Master Peter Fabel; and Smug (lord bless us!) could never stand upright since.
Sir Arth. You, sir—'twas you was his minister, that married them?
Sir John. Sir, to prove myself an honest man, being that I was last night in the forest stealing venison—now, sir, to have you stand my friend, if the matter should be called in question, I married your daughter to this worthy gentleman.
Sir Arth. I may chance to requite you, and make your neck crack for't.
Sir John. If you do, I am as resolute as my neighbour-vicar of Waltham Abbey; ahem! grass and hay! we are all mortal; let's live till we be hanged, mine host, and be merry; and there's an end.
Enter Fabel.[315]
Fab. Now, knights, I enter: now my part begins.
To end this difference, know, at first I knew
What you intended, ere your love took flight
From old Mounchensey: you, Sir Arthur Clare,
Were minded to have married this sweet beauty
To young Frank Jerningham: to cross this match,
I us'd some pretty sleights; but I protest
Such as but sat upon the skirts of art:
No conjurations, nor such weighty spells
As tie the soul to their performancy.
These for his love, who once was my dear pupil,
Have I effected. Now (methinks) 'tis strange
That you, being old in wisdom, should thus knit
Your forehead on this match; since reason fails,
No law can curb the lover's rash attempt;
Years, in resisting this, are sadly spent.
Smile then upon your daughter and kind son;
And let our toil to future ages prove,
The Devil of Edmonton did good in love.