King. To tell thee plaine, I ayme to lye with thee
Wid. To tell you plaine, I had rather lye in Prison
King. Why then thou shalt not haue thy Husbands
Lands
Wid. Why then mine Honestie shall be my Dower,
For by that losse, I will not purchase them
King. Therein thou wrong'st thy Children mightily
Wid. Herein your Highnesse wrongs both them & me:
But mightie Lord, this merry inclination
Accords not with the sadnesse of my suit:
Please you dismisse me, eyther with I, or no
King. I, if thou wilt say I to my request:
No, if thou do'st say No to my demand
Wid. Then No, my Lord: my suit is at an end
Rich. The Widow likes him not, shee knits her
Browes
Clarence. Hee is the bluntest Wooer in Christendome