MRS GOUR. Nor shall he, mistress. Hark, boy; th'art but mad To love the branch that hath a root so bad. FRAN. Then, mother, I will graft a pippin on a crab. MRS GOUR. It will not prove well. FRAN. But I will prove my skill. MRS BAR. Sir, but you shall not. FRAN. Mothers both, I will. MR BAR. Hark, Philip: send away thy sister straight; Let Francis meet her where thou shalt appoint; Let them go several to shun suspicion, And bid them go to Oxford both this night; There to-morrow say that we will meet them, And there determine of their marriage. [_Aside_.] PHIL. I will: though it be very late and dark. My sister will endure it for a husband. [_Aside_.] MR BAR. Well, then, at Carfax,[338] boy, I mean to meet them. [_Aside_.] PHIL. Enough. _Exit_ [MASTER BARNES.] Would they would begin to chide! For I would have them brawling, that meanwhile They may steal hence, to meet where I appoint it. [_Aside_.] What, mother, will you let this match go forward? Or, Mistress Goursey, will you first agree? MRS GOUR. Shall I agree first? PHIL. Ay, why not? come, come. MRS GOUR. Come from her, son, and if thou lov'st thy mother. MRS BAR. With the like spell, daughter, I conjure thee. MRS GOUR. Francis, by fair means let me win thee from her, And I will gild my blessing, gentle son, With store of angels. I would not have thee Check thy good fortune by this cos'ning choice: O, do not thrall thy happy liberty In such a bondage! if thou'lt needs be bound, Be then to better worth; this worthless choice Is not fit for thee. MRS BAR. Is't not fit for him? wherefore is't not fit? Is he too brave[339] a gentleman, I pray? No, 'tis not fit; she shall not fit his turn: If she were wise, she would be fitter for Three times his better. Minion, go in, or I'll make ye; I'll keep ye safe from him, I warrant ye. MRS GOUR. Come, Francis, come from her. FRAN. Mothers, with both hands shove I hate from love, That like an ill-companion would infect The infant mind of our affection: Within this cradle shall this minute's babe Be laid to rest; and thus I'll hug my joy. MRS GOUR. Wilt thou be obstinate, thou self-will'd boy? Nay, then, perforce I'll part ye, since ye will not. COOMES. Do ye hear, mistress? pray ye give me leave to talk two or three cold words with my young master.--Hark ye, sir, ye are my master's son, and so forth; and indeed I bear ye some good-will, partly for his sake, and partly for your own; and I do hope you do the like to me,--I should be sorry else. I must needs say ye are a young man; and for mine own part, I have seen the world, and I know what belongs to causes, and the experience that I have, I thank God I have travelled for it. FRAN. Why, how far have ye travell'd for it? BOY. From my master's house to the ale-house. COOMES. How, sir? BOY. So, sir. COOMES. Go to. I pray, correct your boy; 'twas ne'er a good world, since a boy would face a man so. FRAN. Go to. Forward, man.