Michael. Why, that you painters paint lambs in the lining
of wenches’ petticoats, and we serving-men put
horns to them to make them become sheep. 70
Clarke. Such another word will cost you a cuff or a
knock.
Michael. What, with a dagger made of a pencil? Faith,
’tis too weak, and therefore thou too weak to win
Susan.
Clarke. Would Susan’s love lay upon this stroke.
[Then he breaks Michael’s head.
Here enters Mosbie, Greene, and Alice.
Alice. I’ll lay my life, this is for Susan’s love.
Stayed you behind your master to this end?
Have you no other time to brable in
But now when serious matters are in hand?—
Say, Clarke, hast thou done the thing thou promised? 80
Clarke. Ay, here it is; the very touch is death.
Alice. Then this, I hope, if all the rest do fail,
Will catch Master Arden,
And make him wise in death that lived a fool.
Why should he thrust his sickle in our corn,
Or what hath he to do with thee, my love,
Or govern me that am to rule myself?
Forsooth, for credit sake, I must leave thee!
Nay, he must leave to live that we may love,
May live, may love; for what is life but love? 90
And love shall last as long as life remains,
And life shall end before my love depart.
Mosbie. Why, what is love without true constancy?
Like to a pillar built of many stones,
Yet neither with good mortar well compact
Nor with cement to fasten it in the joints,
But that it shakes with every blast of wind,
And, being touched, straight falls unto the earth,
And buries all his haughty pride in dust.
No, let our love be rocks of adamant, 100
Which time nor place nor tempest can asunder.