marriage,
He is no more the still Petruchio,
Than I am Babylon.

Soph.   He's a good fellow,
And on my word I love him: but to think
A fit match for this tender soul—

Tra.   His very frown, if she but say her prayers
Louder than men talk treason, makes him tinder;
The motion of a Dial, when he's testy,
Is the same trouble to him as a Water-work;
She must do nothing of her self; not eat,
Drink, say Sir, how do ye? make her ready, unready,
Unless he bid her.

Soph.   He will bury her,
Ten pound to twenty shillings, within these three weeks.

Tra.   I'll be your half.

Enter Jaques with a pot of Wine.

Mor.   He loves her most extreamly,
And so long 'twill be Honey-moon. Now Jaques.
You are a busie man I am sure.

Jaq.   Yes certain,
This old sport must have eggs.

Sop.   Not yet this ten daies.

Jaq.   Sweet Gentlemen with Muskadel.

Tra.   That's right, Sir.

Mor.   This fellow broods his Master: speed ye Jaques.

Soph.   We shall be for you presently.

Jaq.   Your worships
Shall have it rich and neat: and o' my conscience
As welcome as our Lady-day: Oh my old Sir,
When shall we see your worship run at Ring?
That hour, a standing were worth money.

Mor.   So Sir.

Jaq.   Upon my little honesty, your Mistriss,
If I have any speculation, must think
This single thrumming of a Fiddle,
Without a Bow, but even poor sport.

Mor.   Y'are merry.

Ja.   Would I were wise too: so God bless your worship.

Tra.   The fellow tells you true. [Exit Jaq.

Soph.   When is the day man?
Come, come, you'll steal a marriage.

Mor.   Nay, believe me:
But when her Father pleases, I am ready,
And all my friends shall know it.

Tra.   Why not now?
One charge had serv'd for both.

Mor.   There's reason in't.

Soph.   Call'd Rowland—

Mor.   Will ye walk?
They'll think we are lost: Come Gentlemen.

Tra.   You have wip'd him now.

Soph.   So will he never the wench, I hope.

Tra.   I wish it. [Exeunt.

Scæna Secunda.

Enter Rowland and Livia.

Row.   Now Livia, if you'll go away to night,
If your affections be not made of words.

Liv.   I love you, and you know how dearly Rowland,
Is there none near us? my affections ever
Have been your servants; with what superstition
I have ever Sainted you—

Row.   Why then take this way.

Liv.   'Twill be a childish, and a less prosperous course,
Than his that knows not care: why should we do,
Our honest and our hearty love such wrong,
To over-run our fortunes?

Row.   Then you flatter.

Liv.   Alas, you know I cannot.

Ro[w].   What hope's left else
But flying to enjoy ye?

Liv.   None so far,
For let it be admitted, we have time,
And all things now in other expectation,
My father's bent against us; what but ruine,
Can such a by-way bring us? if your fears
Would let you look with my eyes, I would shew you,
And certain, how our staying here would win us
A course, though somewhat longer, yet far surer.

Row.   And then Moroso h'as ye.

Liv.   No such matter
For hold this certain, begging, stealing, whoring,
Selling (which is a sin unpardonable)
Of counterfeit Cods, or musty English Croacus;
Switches, or Stones for th' tooth-ache sooner finds me,
Than that drawn Fox Moroso.

Row.   But his money,
If wealth may win you—

Liv.   If a Hog may be
High Priest among the Jews? his money Rowland?
Oh Love forgive me, what faith hast thou?
Why, can his money kiss me?

Row.   Yes.

Liv.   Behind,
Laid out upon a Petticoat: or graspe me
While I cry, Oh good thank you? o'my troth
Thou mak'st me merry with thy fear: or lie with me.
As you may do? alas, what fools you men are?
His mouldy money? half a dozen Riders,
That cannot sit, but stampt fast to their Saddles?
No Rowland, no man shall make use of me;
My beauty was born free, and free I'll give it
To him that loves, not buys me. You yet doubt me.

Row.   I cannot say I doubt ye.

Liv.   Goe thy ways,
Thou art the prettiest puling piece of passion:
Y'faith I will not fail thee.

Row.   I had rather—

Liv.   Prethee believe me, if I do not carry it,
For both our goods—

Row.   But—

Liv.   What but?

Row.   I would tell you.

Liv.   I know all you can tell me; all's but this,
You would have me, and lie with me; is't not so?

Row.   Yes.

Liv.   Why you shall; will that content you? Goe.

Row.   I am very loth to goe.

Enter Byancha and Maria.

Liv.   Now o' my conscience
Thou art an honest fellow: here's my Sister;
Go, prethee go; this kiss, and credit me,
E'r I am three nights older, I am for thee:
You shall hear what I do.
Farewel.

Row.   Farewel. [Exit Rowland.

Liv.   Alas poor fool, how it looks!
It would ev'n hang it self, should I but cross it.
For pure love to the matter I must hatch it.

Bya.   Nay, never look for merry hour, Maria,
If now you make it not; let not your blushes,
Your modesty, and tenderness of spirit,
Make you continual Anvile to his anger:
Believe me, since his first wife set him going,
Nothing can bind his rage: Take your own council,
You shall not say that I perswaded you.
But if you suffer him—

Mar.   Stay, shall I do it?

Bya.   Have you a stomach to't?

Mar.   I never shew'd it.

Bya.   'Twill shew the rarer and the stronger in you.
But do not say I urg'd you.

Mar.   I am perfect,
Like Curtius, to redeem my Countrey, I have
Leap'd into this gulph of marriage, and I'll do it.
Farewel all poorer thoughts, but spight and anger,
Till I have wrought a miracle. Now cosin,
I am no more the gentle, tame Maria;
Mistake me not; I have a new soul in me
Made of a North wind, nothing but tempest;
And like a tempest shall it make all ruin,
Till I have run my Will out.

Bya.   This is brave now,
If you continue it; but your own Will lead you.

Mar.   Adieu all tenderness, I dare continue;
Maids that are made of fears, and modest blushes,
View me, and love example.

Bya.   Here is your Sister.

Mar.   Here is the brave old mans love.