I lived disguisd to winne faire Peggies love.
Margret. What love is there where wedding ends not love?
Lacie. I meant,[1357] faire girle, to make thee Lacies wife. 120
Margret. I litle thinke that earles wil stoop so low.
Lacie. Say shall I make thee countesse ere I sleep?
Margret. Handmaid unto the earle, so please him selfe:
A wife in name, but servant in obedience.
Lacie. The Lincolne countesse, for it shalbe so: 125
Ile plight the bands, and seale it with a kisse.
Edward. Gogs wounds, Bacon, they kisse! Ile stab them.