BOOT

I charge thee on my blessing leave that boy. Come, come, come. Must your appetite be married to beggary Is this the only Phoenix of the World? Still are your eyes gadding that way, know this I'll sooner marry thee unto some slave Whom mine own will can subordinate Rather then to him. Say I grant all this! With my self having deliberated I do not Like 'thassurance of thy Lands Thy titles are so bangld with thy debts, Which thou wouldst have my daughters portion pay. Sir sir, it shall not! I'de come, come. This works to my design and gives free way For wealthy Germane to my daughters love. Come hither Nan. Weel think on't Bateman! Now niece whats your conceit of this? You shall be married instantly! and Girl thou shalt have one Bag more for this, it gladdes me yet, thou art so free from Bateman. I looked for other demonstrations! come Germane this night we'll feast, to morrow thou shalt be wed, At night enfold a maiden in thy bed. Come, come, I have danced till every joint about me grows stiff but that which should be! to bed wench, the groom he's outgone thee, he's warming the sheets the first night I faith. Would, weeping; this is not customary on bridal-mights, Niece who was with your Cuz too night? I, I, but where is that certain man But nimble Chaps, tongue Trotter, Neats-tongue M rs Magpie What was this certain man called And undermining Knave, I will indite him, For daring to set foot upon my ground? This day his father hath arrested me Upon and Actium of a thousand pounds A precontract betwixt his son, and thee To bed my wench, Bateman shall surely find Me master of my words, when his proves wind. Whoes that which calls With horrid terror, and such affrightments As when skath fires devast our villages, How darest thou Bateman come upon my ground Would, would, has—he hanged himself, and saved justice alabor! I laugh to see, how well sorrow becomes thee. Ghosts Hobgoblins, will with wisp, or Dick a Tuesday. Thy husband wench this morn journeys to Newcastle And hardly will return these twelve Moons, Let's feast with him, for Ghosts, and such Like toys Leave them to foolish dotards, girls, and boys. What weeping again? See! what? I see nothing but a Bird fly over the house. I see nothing, perceive nothing, feel nothing! No, no, no! you drank Balm, Burrage or Buglosse last night to bedward, that makes you think on your dreams this morning. Whom should we hear? If it be so, it's done by sorcery. The father has combined, with some witch, To vex thy quiet patience, and gain credit, That he would haunt thee dead, as oft he said, Hell can put life into a senseless body, And raise it from the grave, and make it speak; Use all the faculties alive it did, To work the Devil's hellish stratagems! If I but find he deals in exorcimes I'll make him burn to pacify the Witch, But do not believe it girl. Visit mine enemy? But not to him. I'de rather live subjected to a Turk, Go not my girl, i'll feast all thy senses, Thy palate shall with viands be supplied, Thine ears with heavenly rapture live inspired, Thine eyes with sportive Actium, and delight, Thou shalt have Music to consume the day, And wast the night. Follow her Niece, She hears a Pleurisy of griefs about her, And much I fear the weakness of her brain Should draw her to some ominous exigent! Would she had never, infringed her vow to Bateman Or I had never known this wealthy Germane! If he prove harsh to her, i'll make him know, And enforced hate to vengeance is not slow. Heavens bless the babe! what wares bear my Little infidel? I mean carries it and English Pen, and Inkhorn Or a dutch watch tankerd? Is it a boy, has it a purse, and two pence in't? A purse, and no money, by S to Antony I thought the groom went drunk to bed, he stole too't so early— Admit me to the mother; I give my thanks to heaven daughter Nan, Whose providence hath made thee a mother, Rejoice thou in the first fruits of thy womb, If any sad distempers trouble thy mind Sing lullabies unto this pretty babe, And they will vanish; this must be now thy comfort; You have some private occasions i'm not to question Niece bring the groaning cheece, and all requisites, I must supply the father's place, and bid godfathers. What means this noise! how comes my doors open at this time o'th night; I hope my daughters well, Not dead I hope. Heaven bless her; I am struck dead with grief She has been subject to distempered passion Jove grant she works no harm upon her self, Me thinks she should not for the infants sake, Poor babe it smiles, it lacks no mother yet. Till it miss the breast, she cannot be far But they may find her out; their's a great Snow Fal'ne this night, and by her foot steps they may Easily trace her, where she is. O my poor girl! How happy had I been if she had lived? Whoes that which echos me, playing the wanton With my Misery's? What makest thou here, is there no other wrack, To work my Misery's higher, but thy self, And art thou come for that? o my poor girl. Monster thou troublest me. O misery! my heartstrings crack with grief, Yet will not burst, o say, hast thou yet done? Hast thou done yet? I do beseech thee for this infants sake, Which sets a smiling brow on Misery's, And even by instinct, prays thee to forgive, Commiserate my woes; it grieves me now I did deri'd thy Misery's; be but content I'll weep till thou shalt say, it is enough, So that we may be friends. Passion on passion! am I grown old, and odious in your eyes? what no attendance Mistress! What ails thee woman, what's the matter? would! why dost thou quake, shake, tremble, and shiver? would! Be'st thou the devil, I will talk with thee; Art thou of air, of earth, heaven or hell, Or art thou of some Incubuses breed? Is there more walking Batemans? answer me, Or I will beat thy carcase into a form That is full substantial, and has feeling, Seeing, hearing, smelling, and sweet-tasting, Ghost, I'll thunder thee; I; can the devil feeleor, is he sensible of beating? What art thou! hast thou feeling? Ghost, i'll confine thee; And Miles the Miller of Ruddington gentleman, and Soldier what make you here? Miles you came to steal my Niece. Get into your hobbyhorse, gallop, and be gone then, or i'll Morisdance you—Mistress wait you on me.