_Grimes_. Even he that has thus begrimd yee, my fine drunken Steward. I can cure you, toe; come, let me be your Surgion.
_Lov_. Thou shalt be my hangman first, Rascall.
_Grimes_. You wonnot murder? helpe Captain, Mr. _Crackby, Tim_!
_Omnes_. How now! how now! what's the matter?
_Lov_. Whoop! hell broke loose! tis good to shun the Divell. [_Exit_.
_Grimes_. Not if you meet him in the likenes of a bottle of Sack, good Steward.[92]
_Suc_. Grimes, let me hugg thee, thou sonn of witt.
_Sir Geff_. But I beseech you, Madam; what greater accession[93] can you wish then me for husband? I have it here thats sattisfaction for the lustiest widdow twixt this and London. Say, will you love me? Ime in hast and hate demurrs; if you refuse I must seeke out: I have a little moysture and would be loth to hav't dride for want of exercise.--What say you, lady?
_Lady_. Sir, for your love I thanke you; for your wealth I want it not; but yet I doe not find A disposicon in my selfe to marriage.
_Sir Geff_. That will not serve my turne; I am no knight Who weares the spurr of honour without Rowells To prick a woman forwards: I ride post To Marriage and resolve at the next stage To take my Inn up. You have here Two beautifull young gallants to your daughters: Since youle not be my wife yet be my mother; Ile marry any of them, which you please, And hood her with the bagg [badge?] of honor. Lady, What say you to this motion.
_Lady_. My daughters wills are not in my command: If you can purchase either of their hearts, My free consent shall follow.
_Sir Geff_. Nay, then, they will fall out for me, Madam, I am most fortunate in atcheiving virgins.
Save you, sweet youth, the bewties of your Mrs. Crowne your desires. Are you a suiter?
_Bon_. Madam, I have occasions of importance Wishes a little privacy with you.
_Lady_. With me, sweet Mr. _Bonvill? Sir Geffrey_, Pray you vouchsafe your absence; at more leasure We shall discourse.
_Sir Geff_. With all my heart: Ile to the wenches. [_Exit_.
_Bon_. But are you sure none can oreheare us.
_Lady_. Unles we be to loud: What mooves you to require this secresie?
_Bon_. I come to aske a question, which the winds; If I could deafe them, should not heare for feare Their repercussive Eccho should declare it To all our infamies.