Hum. So would I,
Unless you had more maw to do me good.
Luce. Why, cannot this strange passion be withstood?
Send for a constable, and raise the town.
Hum. Oh no, my valiant love will batter down
Millions of constables, and put to flight
E'en that great watch of Midsummer Day at night.
Luce. Beshrew me, sir, 'twere good I yielded then,
Weak women cannot hope, where valiant men
Have no resistance.