MATHEA

First tell us what it is. Hang up Philosophy, I'll none of it. Good God, how abject is this single life, I'll not abide it; Father, Friends, nor Kin, Shall once dissuade me from affecting: A man's a man; and Ned is more then one: Y faith I'll have thee Ned, or I'll have none; Do what they can, chafe, chide, or storm their fill, Mathea is resolved to have her will. But twelve year old? nay Father that's not so, Our Sexton told me I was three years more. Nay by my troth, 'tis not the guise of maids, To give a slavering Salute to men: aside, If these sweet youths have not the wit to do it, We have the honesty to let them stand. Yes marry when two Sundays come together; Think you I'll learn to speak this gibberidge, Or the Pigs language? Why, if I fallen sick, Theyle say, the French (et-cetera) infected me. Monsieur Delion, he that made your Shoes, made them not in fashion: they should have been cut square at the toe. Withal my heart so you offend no more. I sir see your Belle Gentlewoman cannot be a morous of you. And I think to are Like to scratch there but ne ver to claw any of my Sisters love away. Tut that's a French cog; sure I think, There's never a Wench in France not half so found, To woe and sue so for your Mounsership. Anthony Mowche, Move but the matter; tell us but the jest, And if you find us slack to execute, Never give credence, or believe us more. Master Walgraue ? Would, would, we know the Ass by his ears; it is the Dutchman: what shall we do with him? What shall we do with him? Why crown him with a — Bid him do it Sister, we shall see his cunning. When can you tell; what master Ʋ andalle, A weather beaten soldier and old wencher, Thus to be over reached by three young Girls: Ah sirrah now weel brag with Mistress More, To have as fine a Parret as she hath, Look sisters what a pretty fool it is: What a green greasy shining Coat he hath, And Almond for Parret, a Rope for Parret. Who's there below? No, no, it is the Frenchman in his stead, That Mounsieur motlicoate that can dissemble: Hear you Frenchman, pack to your Whores in France ; Though I am Portingale by the Father's side, And therefore should be lustful, wanton, light; Yet goodman Goosecap, I will let you know, That I have so much English by the Mother, That no base slavering French shall make me stoop: And so, sir Dan-delion fare you well. That voice assures me, that it is my Love: Say truly, Art thou my Ned ? art thou my Love? Ned is. Sweet, so art thou. Weep who that list for me, y faith not I, Though I am youngest yet my stomach's great: Nor 'tis not father, friends, nor any one, Shall make me wed the man I cannot love: I'll have my will ynfayth, y'fayth I will. I will. Y faith he shall not. Frenchman, be sure weel pluck a Crow together, Before you force me give my hand at Church. Anthony, what of us? What shall we wear? As good a morrow, to the morrow giver. Alas poor Wench, I sorrow for thy hap, To see how thou art clogged with such a Dunce: Forsooth my Sire hath fitted me far better, My Frenchman comes upon me with the Sa, sa, sa ; Sweet Madam pardon moi I pra : And then out goes his Hand, down goes his Head, Swallows his Spittle, frissles his Beard; and then to me: Pardon moi mistress Mathea, If I be bold, to macke so bold met you, Think it go will that spurs me dus up you. Dan cast neit off so good and true Lover, Madama celestura de la, (I know not what) Do oft pray to God that me would love her: And then he reckons a catalogue of names of such as love him, and yet cannot get him. So think not I, sir. Nay I'll lay my love to your command, That my Sisters think not so: How say you sister Mall? Why how now Gentlemen, is this your talk? What beaten in plain field: where be your Maids? Nay then I see their loving humour fades, And they resign their interest up to me; And yet I cannot serve for all you three: But least two should be mad, that I love one, You shall be all alike, and I'll love none: The world is scant, when so many Jack Daws, Hover about one Coarse with greedy paws: If needs yowl have me stay till I am dead, Carrion for Crows, Mathea for her Ned: And so farewell, we Sisters do agree, To have our wills, but never to have you three. Anthony, thanks Is too too small a guerdon for this news; You must be English: Well sir signor souse, I'll teach you tricks for coming to our house. Where art thou. O Jesus heres our father. No more sweet love, I know what thou wouldst say: You say you love me, so I wish you still, Love hath loves hire, being ballancst with good will: But say; come you to us, or come you rather To pawn more Lands for money to our father? I know 'tis so, a Gods name spend at large: What man? our marriage day will all discharge; Our father (by his leave) must pardon us, Age save of age, of nothing can discuss: But in our loves, the proverb weel fulfil Women and Maids, must always have their will. Why, then wele cut the Rope & cast him down. Love to true love, no lesser meed affords? We say we love you, and that loves fair breath Shall led us with you round about the Earth: And that our loves, vows, words, may all prove true, Prepare your Arms, for thus we fly to you. they Embrace. Sweet heart.