SMUG.

Need of me? z'hart, you shall have need of me always while there's iron in an Anvil.

BANKS.

Master Parson, may the Smith go, think you, being in this taking?

SMUG.

Go? I'll go in spite of all the belles in Waltham.

SIR JOHN.

The question is, good neighbour Banks--let me see: the Moon shines to night,--there's not a narrow bridge betwixt this and the forest,--his brain will be settled ere night; he may go, he may go, neighbour Banks. Now we want none but the company of mine host Blague at the George at Waltham; if he were here, our Consort were full. Look where comes my good host, the Duke of Norfolk's man! and how? and how? a hem, gra.s.s and hay! we are not yet mortall; let's live till we die, and be merry; and there's an end.

[Enter Host.]

HOST.

Ha, my Castilian dialogues! and art thou in breath still, boy?

Miller, doth the match hold? Smith, I see by thy eyes thou hast been reading little Geneva print: but wend we merrily to the forest, to steal some of the king's Deer. I'll meet you at the time appointed: away, I have Knights and Colonels at my house, and must tend the Hungarions. If we be scard in the forest, we'll meet in the Church-porch at Enfield; ist Correspondent?

BANKS.

Tis well; but how, if any of us should be taken?

SMITH.

He shall have ransom, by the Lord.

HOST.

Tush, the knave keepers are my bosonians and my pensioners.

Nine a clock! be valiant, my little Gogmagogs; I'll fence with all the Justices in Hartford shire. I'll have a Buck till I die; I'll slay a Doe while I live; hold your bow straight and steady. I serve the good duke of Norfolk.

SMUG.

O rare! who, ho, ho, boy!

SIR JOHN.

Peace, neighbor Smug. You see this is a Boor, a Boor of the country, an illiterate Boor, and yet the Citizen of good fellows: come, let's provide; a hem, Gra.s.s and hay! we are not yet all mortall; we'll live till we die, and be merry, and there's an end. Come, Smug1

SMUG.

Good night, Waltham--who, ho, ho, boy!

[Exeunt.]

SCENE II. The George Inn.

[Enter the Knights and Gentlemen from breakfast again.]

OLD MOUNTCHESNEY.

Nor I for thee, Clare, not of this.

What? hast thou fed me all this while with shalles.

And com'st to tell me now, thou lik'st it not?

CLARE.

I do not hold thy offer competent; Nor do I like th' a.s.surance of thy Land, The t.i.tle is so brangled with thy debts.

OLD MOUNTCHESNEY.

Too good for thee; and, knight, thou knowst it well, I fawnd not on thee for thy goods, not I; Twas thine own motion; that thy wife doth know.

LADY.

Husband, it was so; he lies not in that.

CLARE.

Hold thy chat, queane.

OLD MOUNTCHESNEY.

To which I hearkned willingly, and the rather, Because I was persuaded it proceeded From love thou bor'st to me and to my boy; And gav'st him free access unto thy house, Here he hath not behaved him to thy child, But as befits a gentleman to do: Nor is my poor distressed state so low, That I'll shut up my doors, I warrant thee.

CLARE.

Let it suffice, Mountchensey, I mislike it; Nor think thy son a match fit for my child.

MOUNTCHENSEY.

I tell thee, Clare, his blood is good and clear As the best drop that panteth in thy veins: But for this maid, thy fair and vertuous child, She is no more disparaged by thy baseness Then the most orient and the pretious jewell, Which still retains his l.u.s.tre and his beauty, Although a slave were owner of the same.

CLARE.

She is the last is left me to bestow, And her I mean to dedicate to G.o.d.

MOUNTCHENSEY.

You do, sir?

CLARE.

Sir, sir, I do, she is mine own.

MOUNTCHENSEY.

And pity she is so!

d.a.m.nation dog thee and thy wretched pelf!

[Aside.]

CLARE.

Not thou, Mountchensey, shalt bestow my child.

MOUNTCHENSEY.

Neither shouldst thou bestow her where thou mean'st.

CLARE.

What wilt thou do?

MOUNTCHENSEY.

No matter, let that be; I will do that, perhaps, shall anger thee: Thou hast wrongd my love, and, by G.o.d's blessed Angell, Thou shalt well know it.

CLARE.