CLARE. I am glad you're gone. Shall I now open't? no, I'll kiss it first, Because this outside last did kiss his hand. Within this fold (I'll call't a sacred sheet) Are writ black lines, where our white hearts shall meet. Before I ope this door of my delight, Methinks I guess how kindly he doth write Of his true love to me; as chuck, sweetheart, I prythee do not think the time too long That keeps us from the sweets of marriage rites: And then he sets my name, and kisses it, Wishing my lips his sheet to write upon; With like desire (methinks) as mine own thoughts Ask him now here for me to look upon; Yet at the last thinking his love too slack, Ere it arrive at my desired eyes, He hastens up his message with like speed, Even as I break this ope, wishing to read. O, what is here? mine eyes are not mine own; Sure, sure, they are not. [O eyes,] Though you have been my lamps this sixteen years, [_Lets fall the letter_. You do belie my Scarborow reading so; _Forgive him, he is married_, that were ill: What lying lights are these? look, I have no such letter, No wedded syllable of the least wrong Done to a trothplight virgin like myself. Beshrew you for your blindness: _Forgive him, he is married_! I know my Scarborow's constancy to me Is as firm knit as faith to charity, That I shall kiss him often, hug him thus, Be made a happy and a fruitful mother Of many prosperous children like to him; And read I, he was married! ask'd forgiveness? What a blind fool was I; yet here's a letter, To whom, directed too? _To my beloved Clare_. Why, la! Women will read, and read not that they saw. 'Twas but my fervent love misled mine eyes, I'll once again to the inside, _Forgive me, I am married; William Scarborow_. He has set his name to't too. O perjury! within the hearts of men Thy feasts are kept, their tongue proclaimeth them. _Enter_ THOMAS SCARBOROW. THOM. Sister, God's precious, the cloth's laid, the meat cools, we all stay, and your father calls for you. CLARE. Kind sir, excuse me, I pray you, a little; I'll but peruse this letter, and come straight. THOM. Pray you, make haste, the meat stays for us, and our stomach's ready for the meat; for believe this-- Drink makes men hungry, or it makes them lie,[369] And he that's drunk o'er night, i'th'morning's dry: Seen and approved. [_Exit_.