PIS. Lodge in my house? welcome, with all my heart. Mat, hark you, she shall lie with you: Trust me, she could not come in fitter time. For (hear you, sir) to-morrow in the morning All my three daughters must be married. Good Master Moore, let's have your company; What say you, sir? _Enter a Servant._ Welcome, honest friend. MOORE. How now, sirrah, what's the news with you? PIS. Mouche, hear you: stir betimes to-morrow, For then I mean your scholars shall be wed. What news, what news, man, that you look so sad? MOORE. He brings me word my wife is new fall'n sick, And that my daughter cannot come to-night; Or if she does, it will be very late. PIS. Believe me, I am then more sorry for it. But for your daughter, come she soon or late, Some of us will be up to let her in, For here be three mean not to sleep to-night. Well, you must be gone: commend me to your wife. Take heed how you go down: the stairs are bad. Bring here a light. MOORE. 'Tis well, I thank you, sir. [_Exit._ PIS. Good night, Master Moore: farewell, honest friend. Come, come--to bed, to bed: 'tis nine and past. Do not stand prating here to make me fetch you, But get you to your chambers. [_Exit_ PISARO. ANTH. By'r Lady, here's short work! hark you, girls, Will you to-morrow marry with the strangers? MAR. I'faith, sir, no. I'll first leap out at window, Before Marina marry with a stranger. ANTH. Yes, but your father swears you shall have one. MATH. Yes, but his daughters swear they shall have none. These whoreson cannibals, these Philistines, These tango-mongoes shall not rule o'er me. I'll have my will and Ned, or I'll have none. ANTH. How will you get him? how will you get him? I know no other way except it be this, That when your father's in his soundest sleep, You ope the door, and run away with them. ALL SISTERS. So we will, rather than miss of them. ANTH. 'Tis well-resolved, i' faith, and like yourselves. But hear you! to your chambers presently, Lest that your father do descry our drift. [_Exeunt_ SISTERS. Mistress Susan should come, but she cannot; Nor perhaps shall not, yet perhaps she shall. Might not a man conceit a pretty jest, And make as mad a riddle as this is? If all things fadge now,[522] as all things should do, We shall be sped; faith, Mat shall have her due. FOOTNOTES: [507] _i.e._, Marvel. [508] Meaning Cavaliers. [509] _Solamen miseris socios habuisse doloris._ [510] This story had become familiar in consequence of T. Lodge's "Scilla's Metamorphosis," printed in 1589.