Dap. Why, she was my wench!
Gripe. I'll make her honest then.
Mrs. Cros. Upon my repute he never saw her before:—but will your worship marry my daughter then?
Gripe. I promise her and you, before all this good company, to-morrow I will make her my wife.
Dap. How!
Ran. Our ladies, sir, I suppose, expect the same promise from us. [To Valentine.
Val. They may be sure of us without a promise; but let us (if we can) obtain theirs, to be sure of them.
Dap. But will you marry her to-morrow?—[To Gripe.
Gripe. I will, verily.
Dap. I am undone then! ruined, let me perish!