Act 1 — [Scene II.][2979]

Vent. Come, sir, she’s yours; upon my faith, she’s yours; You have my hand: for other idle lets[2980] Between your hopes and her, thus with a wind They are scattered and no more. My wanton prentice, That like a bladder blew himself with love,5 I have let out, and sent him to discover New masters yet unknown. Hum. I thank you, sir, Indeed, I thank you, sir; and, ere I stir, It shall be known, however you do deem, I am of gentle blood and gentle seem.10 Vent. Oh, sir, I know it certain. Hum. Sir, my friend, Although, as writers say, all things have end, And that we call a pudding hath his two, Oh, let it not seem strange, I pray, to you, If in this bloody simile I put15 My love, more endless than frail things or gut!

Vent. Well, sir, you know my love, and rest, I hope, Assur’d of my consent; get but my daughter’s, And wed her when you please. You must be bold, And clap in close unto her: come, I know You have language good enough to win a wench.35

Hum. I take your gentle offer, and withal Yield love again for love reciprocal. Vent. What, Luce! within there!

Luce. Call’d you, sir? Vent. I did:40 Give entertainment to this gentleman; And see you be not froward.—To her, sir: My presence will but be an eye-sore to you. Exit. Hum. Fair Mistress Luce, how do you do? Are you well? Give me your hand, and then I pray you tell45 How doth your little sister and your brother; And whether you love me or any other. Luce. Sir, these are quickly answered. Hum. So they are, Where women are not cruel. But how far Is it now distant from the place we are in,50 Unto that blessed place, your father’s warren? Luce. What makes you think of that, sir? Hum. Even that face; For, stealing rabbits whilom in that place, God Cupid, or the keeper, I know not whether, Unto my cost and charges brought you thither, And there began—— Luce. Your game, sir. Hum. Let no game,56 Or any thing that tendeth to the same, Be evermore rememb’red, thou fair killer, For whom I sat me down, and brake my tiller.[2984]

Luce. Beshrew me, sir, I am sorry for your losses, But, as the proverb says, I cannot cry. I would you had not seen me! Hum. So would I,65 Unless you had more maw[2985] to do me good. Luce. Why, cannot this strange passion be withstood? Send for a constable, and raise the town. Hum. Oh, no! my valiant love will batter down Millions of constables, and put to flight70 Even that great watch of Midsummer-day at night.[2986] Luce. Beshrew me, sir, ’t were good I yielded, then; Weak women cannot hope, where valiant men Have no resistance. Hum. Yield, then; I am full Of pity, though I say it, and can pull75 Out of my pocket thus a pair of gloves. Look, Lucy, look; the dog’s tooth nor the dove’s Are not so white as these; and sweet they be, And whipt[2987] about with silk, as you may see. If you desire the price, shoot from your eye80 A beam to this place, and you shall espy F S, which is to say, my sweetest honey, They cost me three and twopence, or no money. Luce. Well, sir, I take them kindly, and I thank you: What would you more? Hum. Nothing. Luce. Why, then, farewell.85 Hum. Nor so, nor so; for, lady, I must tell, Before we part, for what we met together: God grant me time and patience and fair weather! Luce. Speak, and declare your mind in terms so brief. Hum. I shall: then, first and foremost, for relief90 I call to you, if that you can afford it; I care not at what price, for, on my word, it Shall be repaid again, although it cost me More then I’ll speak of now; for love hath tost me In furious blanket like a tennis-ball,95 And now I rise aloft, and now I fall. Luce. Alas, good gentleman, alas the day! Hum. I thank you heartily; and, as I say, Thus do I still continue without rest, I’ th’ morning like a man, at night a beast,100 Roaring and bellowing mine own disquiet, That much I fear, forsaking of my diet Will bring me presently to that quandary, I shall bid all adieu. Luce. Now, by St. Mary, That were great pity! Hum. So it were, beshrew me;105 Then, ease me, lusty Luce, and pity show me. Luce. Why, sir, you know my will is nothing worth Without my father’s grant; get his consent, And then you may with assurance try me. Hum. The worshipful your sire will not deny me;110 For I have askt him, and he hath repli’d, “Sweet Master Humphrey, Luce shall be thy bride.” Luce. Sweet Master Humphrey, then I am content. Hum. And so am I, in truth. Luce. Yet take me with you;[2988] There is another clause must be annext,115 And this it is: I swore, and will perform it, No man shall ever joy me as his wife But he that stole me hence. If you dare venture, I am yours (you need not fear; my father loves you); If not, farewell for ever! Hum. Stay, nymph, stay:120 I have a double gelding, colour’d bay, Sprung by his father from Barbarian kind; Another for myself, though somewhat blind, Yet true as trusty tree. Luce. I am satisfied; And so I give my hand. Our course must lie125 Through Waltham-forest, where I have a friend Will entertain us. So, farewell, Sir Humphrey, And think upon your business. Exit. Hum. Though I die, I am resolv’d to venture life and limb For one so young, so fair, so kind, so trim. 130 Exit.