And there began——
Luce. Your game, sir.
Hum. Let no game,
Or anything that tendeth to the same,
Be evermore remembered, thou fair killer,
For whom I sate me down and brake my tiller.
Wife. There's a kind gentleman, I warrant you. When will you do as much for me, George?
Luce. Beshrew me, sir, I'm sorry for your losses,
But as the proverb says, I cannot cry;
I would you had not seen me.