Laur. Peace! let him not know that you are here. Master Heigham, if you will stay awhile, that I may see if my father be asleep, and I'll make means we may come together.
Van. Dat sal ic, my loove. Is dit no well counterfet? I speak so like Mester Heigham, as 'tis possible.
Laur. Well, what shall we do with this lubber—Lover, I should say?
Math. What shall we do with him?
Why, crown him with a——
Mar. Fie, slut! No, we'll use him cleanlier. You know we have never a sign at the door: would not the jest prove current to make the Dutchman supply that want.
Laur. Nay, the fool will cry out, and so wake my father.
Math. Why, then we'll cut the rope and cast him down.
Laur. And so jest out a hanging. Let's rather draw him up in the basket, and so starve him to death this frosty night.
Mar. In sadness, well-advised. Sister, do you hold him in talk, and we'll provide it the whilst.
Laur. Go to, then. Master Heigham, O sweet
Master Heigham!
Doth my father think that his unkindness
Can part you and poor Laurentia? No, no,
I have found a drift to bring you to my chamber,
If you have but the heart to venture it.