Hog. What, hath not my young Lord Wealthy been here this morning?
P. Ser. No, in very deed, sir; he is a towardly young gentleman; shall he have my young mistress, your daughter, I pray you, sir?
Hog. Ay, that he shall, Peter; she cannot be matched to greater honour and riches in all this country: yet the peevish girl makes coy of it, she had rather affect a prodigal; as there was Haddit, one that by this time cannot be otherwise than hanged, or in some worse estate; yet she would have had him: but I praise my stars she went without him, though I did not without his lands. 'Twas a rare mortgage, Peter.
P. Ser. As e'er came in parchment: but see, here comes my young lord.
Enter Young Lord Wealthy.
Y. Lord W. Morrow, father Hog; I come to tell you strange news; my sister is stol'n away to-night, 'tis thought by necromancy. What necromancy is, I leave to the readers of the "Seven Champions of Christendom."[375]
Hog. But is it possible your sister should be stolen? sure, some of the household servants were confederates in't.
Y. Lord W. Faith, I think they would have confessed, then; for I am sure my lord and father hath put them all to the bastinado twice this morning already: not a waiting-woman, but has been stowed, i' faith.
P. Ser. Trust me, he says well for the most part.