To kepe thy face fayre and thy smocke beshytten.
Syr, howe lycke ye my reason in her case?
Mery-reporte. Such a raylynge hore, by the holy mas,
I never herde, in all my lyfe, tyll now.
In dede I love ryght well the ton of you, 940
But, or I wolde kepe you both, by goddes mother,
The devyll shall have the tone to fet[199] the tother.
Launder. Promyse me to speke that the sone may shyne bryght,
And I wyll be gone quyckly for all nyght.
Mery-reporte. Get you both hens, I pray you hartely; 945