SIR RALPH. Are ye a maid? No question, this is she My man doth miss: faith, since she lights on me, I do not mean till day to let her go; For whe'er[417] she is my man's love, I will know [_Aside_ Hark ye, maid, if [a] maid, are ye so light, That you can see to wander in the night? MAL. Hark ye, true man, if true, I tell ye, no; I cannot see at all which way I go. SIR RALPH. Fair maid, is't so? say, had ye ne'er a fall? MAL. Fair man, not so; no, I had none at all. SIR RALPH. Could you not stumble on one man, I pray? MAL. No, no such block till now came in my way. SIR RALPH. Am I that block, sweet tripe; then, fall and try. MAL. The ground's too hard a feather-bed; not I. SIR RALPH. Why, how, and you had met with such a stump? MAL. Why, if he had been your height, I meant to jump. SIR RALPH. Are ye so nimble? MAL. Nimble as a doe. SIR RALPH. Bak'd in a pie. MAL. Of ye. SIR RALPH. Good meat, ye know. MAL. Ye hunt sometimes? SIR RALPH. I do. MAL. What take ye? SIR RALPH. Deer. MAL. You'll ne'er strike rascal[418]? SIR RALPH. Yes, when ye are there. MAL. Will ye strike me? SIR RALPH. Yes: will ye strike again? MAL. No, sir: it fits not maids to fight with men. SIR RALPH. I wonder, wench, how I thy name might know. MAL. Why, you may find it, sir, in th'Christcross row[419]. SIR RALPH. Be my schoolmistress, teach me how to spell it. MAL. No, faith, I care not greatly, if I tell it; My name is Mary Barnes. SIR RALPH. How, wench? Mall Barnes! MAL. The very same. SIR RALPH. Why, this is strange. MAL. I pray, sir, what's your name? SIR RALPH. Why, Sir Ralph Smith doth wonder, wench, at this; Why, what's the cause thou art abroad so late? MAL. What, Sir Ralph Smith! nay, then, I will disclose All the whole cause to him, in him repose My hopes, my love: God him, I hope, did send Our loves and both our mothers' hates to end. [_Aside_.] --Gentle Sir Ralph, if you my blush might see, You then would say I am ashamed to be Found, like a wand'ring stray, by such a knight, So far from home at such a time of night: But my excuse is good; love first by fate Is cross'd, controll'd, and sundered by fell hate. Frank Goursey is my love, and he loves me; But both our mothers hate and disagree; Our fathers like the match and wish it done; And so it had, had not our mothers come; To Oxford we concluded both to go; Going to meet, they came; we parted so; My mother followed me, but I ran fast, Thinking who went from hate had need make haste; Take me she cannot, though she still pursue: But now, sweet knight, I do repose on you; Be you my orator and plead my right, And get me one good day for this bad night.