Roaring and bellowing mine own disquiet,
That much I fear, forsaking of my diet,
Will bring me presently to that quandary,
I shall bid all adieu.
Luce. Now, by St. Mary
That were great pity.
Hum. So it were, beshrew me,
Then ease me, lusty Luce, and pity shew me.
Luce. Why, sir, you know my will is nothing worth
Without my father's grant; get his consent,