To Windsore, where our mariage shalbe kept!
Thy wedding robes are in the tailors hands.
Come, Peggy, leave these peremptorie vowes. 70
Margret. Did not my lord resigne his interest,
And make divorce 'twixt Marg[a]ret and him?
Lacie. Twas but to try sweete Peggies constancie.
But will fair Margret leave her love and lord?
Margret. Is not heavens joy before earths fading blisse, 75
And life above sweeter than life in love?
Lacy. Why,[1555] then, Margret will be shorne a nun?