DAUGHTER.
’Tis true,
For there, I will assure you, we shall find
Some blind priest for the purpose, that will venture
To marry us, for here they are nice and foolish.
Besides, my father must be hanged tomorrow,
And that would be a blot i’ th’ business.
Are not you Palamon?
WOOER.
Do not you know me?
DAUGHTER.
Yes, but you care not for me. I have nothing
But this poor petticoat, and two coarse smocks.
WOOER.
That’s all one; I will have you.
DAUGHTER.
Will you surely?
WOOER.
[Taking her hand.] Yes, by this fair hand, will I.
DAUGHTER.
We’ll to bed, then.
WOOER.
E’en when you will.
[Kisses her.]
DAUGHTER.
[Rubs off the kiss.] O sir, you would fain be nibbling.