WOOER.
Doe not you know me?
DAUGHTER.
Yes, but you care not for me; I have nothing
But this pore petticoate, and too corse Smockes.
WOOER.
That’s all one; I will have you.
DAUGHTER.
Will you surely?
WOOER.
Yes, by this faire hand, will I.
DAUGHTER.
Wee’l to bed, then.
WOOER.
Ev’n when you will. [Kisses her.]
DAUGHTER.
O Sir, you would faine be nibling.
WOOER.
Why doe you rub my kisse off?
DAUGHTER.
Tis a sweet one,
And will perfume me finely against the wedding.
Is not this your Cosen Arcite?
DOCTOR.
Yes, sweet heart,
And I am glad my Cosen Palamon
Has made so faire a choice.
DAUGHTER.
Doe you thinke hee’l have me?
DOCTOR.
Yes, without doubt.
DAUGHTER.
Doe you thinke so too?
IAILOR.
Yes.
DAUGHTER.
We shall have many children:—Lord, how y’ar growne!
My Palamon, I hope, will grow, too, finely,
Now he’s at liberty: Alas, poore Chicken,
He was kept downe with hard meate and ill lodging,
But ile kisse him up againe.
[Emter a Messenger.]
MESSENGER.
What doe you here? you’l loose the noblest sight
That ev’r was seene.
IAILOR.
Are they i’th Field?
MESSENGER.
They are.
You beare a charge there too.
IAILOR.
Ile away straight.
I must ev’n leave you here.
DOCTOR.
Nay, wee’l goe with you;
I will not loose the Fight.
IAILOR.
How did you like her?
DOCTOR.
Ile warrant you, within these 3. or 4. daies
Ile make her right againe. You must not from her,
But still preserve her in this way.
WOOER.
I will.
DOCTOR.
Lets get her in.
WOOER.
Come, sweete, wee’l goe to dinner;
And then weele play at Cardes.
DAUGHTER.
And shall we kisse too?
WOOER.
A hundred times.
DAUGHTER.
And twenty.
WOOER.
I, and twenty.
DAUGHTER.
And then wee’l sleepe together.
DOCTOR.
Take her offer.
WOOER.
Yes, marry, will we.
DAUGHTER.
But you shall not hurt me.
WOOER.
I will not, sweete.
DAUGHTER.
If you doe, Love, ile cry. [Florish. Exeunt]
Scaena 3. (A Place near the Lists.)
[Enter Theseus, Hipolita, Emilia, Perithous: and some Attendants,
(T. Tucke: Curtis.)]
EMILIA.
Ile no step further.
PERITHOUS.
Will you loose this sight?
EMILIA.
I had rather see a wren hawke at a fly
Then this decision; ev’ry blow that falls
Threats a brave life, each stroake laments
The place whereon it fals, and sounds more like
A Bell then blade: I will stay here;
It is enough my hearing shall be punishd
With what shall happen—gainst the which there is
No deaffing, but to heare—not taint mine eye
With dread sights, it may shun.
PERITHOUS.
Sir, my
