URSULA

Why then up-with your bag; and baggage, and to Saint Mary's presently the Priest stays, the Clarke whynes to say A men! and for official scholars love buttered loaves, and Angel will persuade him to consent, we that live by the sins of the people may dispense with venial toys. Faith, and shall be as long as I keep me out of Cupid's manacles, dost hear Lover? take her now thou hast her i'th vain trust not we wenches, theirs as truth in us, as in Knights o'th post; if she swear love to day, shee'le unswear it to morrow with a safe conscience; stand not shall I shall I, take me her to have, and to hold, and if either of you repent your bargain within a twelvemonth— Then you shall fetch no Bacon at Dunmowe; we young wenches in our loves are Like Lapwinges, if once we creep out o'th shells, we run from out old loves Like Scopperells, women's minds are planetary, and amble as fast as Virginals Jacks, if you stop they not in true time, you mar all your music. See heres your Father's. Well said old cock, would thy spurs were new rowel that thou mightest pick out his eyes. I thought the wind was in that door; by my virginity a young wench were better be heir to a swineherds chines, then a rich men bags! we must be coupld in wedlock Like your Barbary horse, and Spanish Gennet, for breed sake, house to house, and land to land, the devil a jot of love? poor simple virginity, that used to be our best Dowry is now grown as bore as a serving-mans cloak that has not had a good nap this seven years. The fool dotes, but 'tis no matter, 'tis no matter, 'tis Lady Like why should not I have my Monkey to play withal? Heavens bless me out of your company, for fools I found you, and so I must leave you in spite of my heart. Let me fail of my best wishes, and I do, I cannot amuse my thoughts to't, thou mayest as soon persuade me that a Spiders Web will catch a swarm of Bees as thou marry Her man! his head's Like a Weloh-mans Crest on St. Davies day? he looks Like a hoary Frost in December, now Venus bless me, i'de rather lie by a Statue? Thou wrists a good text to and ill sense? but none but fools would lie in beds of snow that might couch in Roses? but it may be Cozen; but it may be Cuz? you follow the fashion of our Country Knights that marry your old London Widows; 'tis but keeping a handsome Chambermaid, they are necessary evils, and will serve with a small Dowry afterwards to make parsons wives! you know my meaning Cuz. To your ruin; to your black father presently? cock him with the herb Moly that will put blood in's cheeks? let him be dieted Like your Barbary horse? heel near stand to his tacklings else? feed him with Vipers flesh that will make his white head black? dost thou refuse youthful Bateman to lie with wealthy Germane, reject a Mine of virtue, for a Mountain of muck? Cupid bless thee, for i'll swear, he has blinded thee as blind as a Bat. If I believe thee not; may I turn Nun before my pro bation? to be serious let me touch thy conscience? if young Bateman to whom I know tha'st vowed thy faith? should at thy falsehood fallen into some malevolencies in himself, or on thee; Wood grieve thee to have Ballads made on thee, to the tune of the inconstant Lover, and have thy perjuries pined on e very Post? No intruth for I think tha'st as pleasure in't? as a hanged man has of his pardon, or a Dog with a Glass bottle at's tail? see heres thy father, with him the man that must be, not the foreman o'th Parish, but a buck o'th first head. If I had not rather Kiss a muff made of Cats-skins, then these mouldy chops of his, wood I might die and And choresse. Faith Uncle i'm a woman? and they say a woman is a weathercock for mine own partly some are I think? and when I think they are not i'll tell you my conceit, till then i'll pay you with thinking. Which if he does, may she die of the pip, and go to the grave as a Salad for the worms. Good Wives, Widows, and young wenches, pardon me, for I am touched in conscience to rail on my own sex, I blame not those mysogynifts that say women are froward in constant, and what not; I protest I begin to mistrust mine own thoughts, I'am quite out of love with all women's good nes? fie upon us weathercocks, of all things sublunary the worst of creatures, we painted sepulchers, rotten braveries, silly Ciphers until men's figures supply us, and yet we cannot render they a constant minute; all this is manifest in my new Bride, she that yesterday gave faith to one, the next day mar ried another; and now married she's sick of the sullens, she wants youth to inflame, and give satiety a fresh appetite; fie upon us Moon Calves, and created Fools be those men that credits us I see i'm cut off. You're welcome home sir. Sooth badly, she has been, Planet-struck ever since you went? she fell into a Lethargy since noon, a kind of qualm came over her stomach Like a Cramp or a Connul sion? We had a Wedding to day, and the young fry tickle trenchmore. I know not, for had she as many bodies as hearts, she might be here, and yonder too. Nay swear not; if you have any ill language to spare I'll send my Cozen to you presently. One that may be jealous though he wears no yellow. Beshrew your own false, if their be ill 'tis of your own begetting i'll provide Cock-broths, and caudles for your old Cocksparrow. By my virginity the Groom cries to bed, night goes to Ghost, how now another Niobe turned to stone, bless me has the Conjurer be here. Heigh day what inundations are here, will you come away, and the Groom should geld himself for anger there would be fine sport. Uncle there was a certain man There is the woman, but the certain man is gone With reverence Uncle his name was Bateman? Troth Cozen, Though griefs of lower kinds assail me not, I never was so touched unto the heart, Mine eyes so flexible are to melt in tears I cannot stop'em; I shall be still afraid To walk to'th door when I behold this Tree, For fear his Ghost haunt me! I wonder much, You could forbear from passionating. Las Cozeni'me not infectious my breath cannot blast you? You tell me of and object, and a strange one, But whose is the resemblance? Has it no name! 'Tis but your found conceit; I've herd you say that dreams and visions were fabulous; and yet one time I dreamed fowl water ran through the floor, and the next day the house was on fire; you used to say Hobgoblins, Fairies, and the Like were nothing but our own affrightments, and you o my troth Cuz I once dreamed of a young bachelor, and was rid with a Nightmare. But come, so my conscience be clear I never care how fowl my dreams are. Nor I, but a blind Buzzard looks as Like her husband as may be. Nor I, no quick thing, neither clothed nor naked. Here's not so much as a shadow to affright us, for mine own partly neither Incubus nor Sucubus can do't; I fear not what a quick thing can do, and I think y'ore dead things are too quiet to say any harm Good sir remember, Forgiveness is and Attribute of Heaven. She has a hearty sorrow for her sins, And comes to make atonement, if you please. To her unseen fancies. Good sir; have patience, hers is true sorrow, And not derision. A blessing crown you for it. Whom I admire for noble honesty. And a Father too, Mother midnight. Here comes my Uncle. She's now awake, sir. Was a strange dream! I marry sir this is a silent hour, their teeth will not let their tongues wag. Well drunk Mother midnight, now will she swear by this Wine, till she soak the Pot were it a fathom deep. Here's sweet swearing, and deep vows, she goes to'th bottom at every oath. Sweet Mother Prattle what be those Castor, and Bollux? They have sworn all the Wine, and Banquet away. Their all asleep I have a heavy slough, Come over my eyelids; Somisdore hath struck me, I cannot wake, and must give way to rest, I have slept this hour, how, d'yee cozen? would? cozen, here; ay me, where, alas no where, ay me she's gone, she's gone. Alas! my cozen, she's gone, she's gone. O sir she is— I know not that neither; but while we After long watching took a little rest She's stolen out of her bed, and fled away, The doors quite open, and the infant-here. O misery! Behold the saddest spectacle of woe, That ever mortal eyes took notice off. Younder's my Antagonist; a haunts me Like a ghost, because I used to make him the prologue to be merry, he for sooth conceits it's love sir reverence, why Ursula, Niece Ursula? That's my uncle's call, if I staia little, he'll fetch me in, which if he does, I may perchance harp upon a conceit to beat this parboiled gentleman's love out of my mealy Millers coat. How now Master Miles, singing! Alas! what shall we do? if my uncle comes, he'll take thee for a Ghost, his brain is so fraught with distempers, and then falls he raging mad, Sometime he will, so after your fit is over, I'll prescribe a remedy against love. O Lo-oooord sir; O there, there, there! Farewell good hobbyhorse—weehee—