M. Bar. How now? what outcry is here? why, how now, woman?
Mi. Ba. Why, Gourseys sonne, confederates[1795] with this boy,
This wretch unnaturall and undutifull,
Seekes hence to steale my daughter: will you suffer it?
Shall he, thats sonne to my arche-enemy, 235
Enjoy her? have I brought her up to this?
O God, he shall not have her, no, he shall not!
M. Bar. I am sorry she knowes it. [Aside].—Harke ye, wife,
Let reason moderate your rage a little.
If you examine but his birth and living, 240