[M. Mery.][419] Ah sir, be good to hir, she is but a gristle,[420] C i
Ah sweete lambe and coney. 25
R. Royster. Tut thou art deceived.
M. Mery. Weepe no more lady, ye shall be well received.
Up wyth some mery noyse sirs, to bring home the bride.[421]
R. Royster. Gogs armes knave, art thou madde? I tel thee thou art wide.[422]
M. Mery. Then ye entende by nyght to have hir home brought.
R. Royster. I tel thee no. 30
M. Mery. How then?
R. Royster. Tis neither ment ne thought.