_Serl._ Let it be me; and trust me, Margaret, The meads environ'd with the silver streams, Whose battling pastures fatten all my flocks, Yielding forth fleeces stapled with such wool, As Lemnster cannot yield more finer stuff, And forty kine with fair and burnish'd heads, With strouting[220] dugs that paggle to the ground, Shall serve thy dairy, if thou wed with me.
_Lam._ Let pass the country wealth, as flocks and kine, And lands that wave with Ceres' golden sheaves, Filling my barns with plenty of the fields; But, Peggy, if thou wed thyself to me, Thou shalt have garments of embroider'd silk, Lawns, and rich net-works for thy head-attire: Costly shall be thy fair habiliments, If thou wilt be but Lambert's loving wife.
_Mar._ Content you, gentles, you have proffer'd fair, And more than fits a country maid's degree: But give me leave to counsel me a time, For fancy blooms not at the first assault; Give me but ten days' respite, and I will reply, Which or to whom myself affectionates.
_Serl._ Lambert, I tell thee thou'rt importunate; Such beauty fits not such a base esquire: It is for Serlsby to have Margaret.
_Lam._ Think'st thou with wealth to overreach me? Serlsby, I scorn to brook thy country braves: I dare thee, coward, to maintain this wrong, At dint of rapier, single in the field.
_Serl._ I'll answer, Lambert, what I have avouch'd.-- Margaret, farewell; another time shall serve. [_Exit._
_Lam._ I'll follow--Peggy, farewell to thyself; Listen how well I'll answer for thy love. [_Exit._
_Mar._ How fortune tempers lucky haps with frowns, And wrongs me with the sweets of my delight! Love is my bliss, and love is now my bale. Shall I be Helen in my froward fates, As I am Helen in my matchless hue, And set rich Suffolk with my face afire? If lovely Lacy were but with his Peggy, The cloudy darkness of his bitter frown Would check the pride of these aspiring squires. Before the term of ten days be expir'd, Whenas they look for answer of their loves, My lord will come to merry Fressingfield, And end their fancies and their follies both: Till when, Peggy, be blithe and of good cheer.
_Enter a_ Post _with a letter and a bag of gold._
_Post._ Fair, lovely damsel, which way leads this path? How might I post me unto Fressingfield? Which footpath leadeth to the Keeper's lodge?