OLD MOUNTCHESNEY. Too good for thee; and, knight, thou knowst it well, I fawnd not on thee for thy goods, not I; Twas thine own motion; that thy wife doth know.
LADY. Husband, it was so; he lies not in that.
CLARE. Hold thy chat, queane.
OLD MOUNTCHESNEY. To which I hearkned willingly, and the rather, Because I was persuaded it proceeded From love thou bor'st to me and to my boy; And gav'st him free access unto thy house, Here he hath not behaved him to thy child, But as befits a gentleman to do: Nor is my poor distressed state so low, That I'll shut up my doors, I warrant thee.
CLARE. Let it suffice, Mountchensey, I mislike it; Nor think thy son a match fit for my child.
MOUNTCHENSEY. I tell thee, Clare, his blood is good and clear As the best drop that panteth in thy veins: But for this maid, thy fair and vertuous child, She is no more disparaged by thy baseness Then the most orient and the pretious jewell, Which still retains his lustre and his beauty, Although a slave were owner of the same.
CLARE. She is the last is left me to bestow, And her I mean to dedicate to God.
MOUNTCHENSEY. You do, sir?
CLARE. Sir, sir, I do, she is mine own.
MOUNTCHENSEY. And pity she is so! Damnation dog thee and thy wretched pelf!
[Aside.]
CLARE. Not thou, Mountchensey, shalt bestow my child.
MOUNTCHENSEY. Neither shouldst thou bestow her where thou mean'st.
CLARE. What wilt thou do?
MOUNTCHENSEY. No matter, let that be; I will do that, perhaps, shall anger thee: Thou hast wrongd my love, and, by God's blessed Angell, Thou shalt well know it.
CLARE. Tut, brave not me.
MOUNTCHENSEY. Brave thee, base Churle! were't not for man-hood sake-- I say no more, but that there be some by Whose blood is hotter then ours is, Which being stird might make us both repent This foolish meeting. But, Harry Clare, Although thy father have abused my friendship, Yet I love thee, I do, my noble boy, I do, yfaith.
LADY. Aye, do, do! Fill the world with talk of us, man, man; I never lookt for better at your hands.
FABELL. I hop'd your great experience and your years Would have proved patience rather to your soul, Then with this frantique and untamed passion To whet their skeens; and, but for that I hope their friendships are too well confirmd, And their minds temperd with more kindly heat, Then for their froward parents soars That they should break forth into publique brawles-- How ere the rough hand of th' untoward world Hath moulded your proceedings in this matter, Yet I am sure the first intent was love: Then since the first spring was so sweet and warm, Let it die gently; ne'er kill it with a scorn.
RAY. O thou base world, how leprous is that soul That is once lim'd in that polluted mud! Oh, sir Arthur, you have startled his free active spirits With a too sharp spur for his mind to bear. Have patience, sir: the remedy to woe Is to leave what of force we must forgo.
MILLISCENT. And I must take a twelve months approbation, That in mean time this sole and private life At the years end may fashion me a wife: But, sweet Mounchensey, ere this year be done, Thou'st be a frier, if that I be a Nun. And, father, ere young Jerningham's I'll be, I will turn mad to spite both him and thee.
CLARE. Wife, come, to horse, and huswife, make you ready; For, if I live, I swear by this good light, I'll see you lodged in Chesson house to night.
[Exeunt.]
MOUNTCHESNEY. Raymond, away! Thou seest how matters fall. Churle, hell consume thee, and thy pelf, and all!
FABELL. Now, Master Clare, you see how matters fadge; Your Milliscent must needs be made a Nune. Well, sir, we are the men must ply this match: Hold you your peace, and be a looker on, And send her unto Chesson--where he will, I'll send me fellows of a handful hie Into the Cloysters where the Nuns frequent, Shall make them skip like Does about the Dale, And with the Lady prioress of the house To play at leap-frog, naked in their smocks, Until the merry wenches at their mass Cry teehee weehee; And tickling these mad lasses in their flanks, They'll sprawl, and squeak, and pinch their fellow Nuns. Be lively, boys, before the wench we lose, I'll make the Abbas wear the Cannons hose.