We serve the turne in jolly Fresingfield. 25
Jone. Margret,[1314] a farmers daughter for a farmers son:
I warrant you, the meanest of us both
Shall have a mate to lead us from the church.
But, Thomas, whats the newes? what, in a dumpe?
Give me your hand, we are neere a pedlers shop,— 30
Out with your purse, we must have fairings now.
Thomas. Faith, Jone, and shall: Ile bestow a fairing on you, and then we will to the tavern, and snap off a pint of wine or two.
All this while Lacie whispers Margret in the eare.
Margret. Whence are you, sir? of Suffolke? for your tearmes