Mall. Then the worse for me. Hark, mother, harke!
The priest forgets that ere he was a clarke:
When you were at my yeeres, Ile holde my life, 200
Your minde was to change maidenhead for wife.
Pardon me, mother, I am of your minde,
And, by my troth, I take it but by kinde.[1686]
Mis. Bar. Do ye heare, daughter? you shal stay my leasure.
Mall. Do you heare, mother? would you stay fro pleasure 205
When ye have minde to it? Go to, there's no wrong
Like this, to let maides lye alone so long: