Phil. Why, this is well. The other I will trie.—
Come, mistresse Goursey, do you first agree. 215
Mi. Gour. What, shall I yeeld unto mine enemie?
Phil. Why, if she will, will you?
Mi. Gou. Perhaps I will.
Phil. Nay, then, I finde this goes well forward still.
Mother, give me your hand,—give me yours to[o]; 220
Be not so loath; some good thing I must do;
But lay your torches by, I like not them;
Come, come, deliver them unto your men: