PIS. Now, afore God, she is a sweet, smug girl! One might do good on her; the flesh is frail, Man hath infirmity, and such a bride Were able to change age to hot desire. Hark you, sweetheart: To-morrow are my daughters to be wed, I pray you, take the pains to go with them. WAL. If, sir, you'll give me leave, I'll wait on them. PIS. Yes, marry, shall you, and a thousand thanks: Such company as you my daughters want; Maids must grace maids when they are married. Is't not a merry life, think'st thou, to wed, For to embrace, and to be embrac'd abed. WAL. I know not what you mean, sir. Here's an old ferret, pole-cat. [_Aside._ PIS. You may do, if you'll follow mine advice. I tell thee, mouse, I knew a wench as nice. Well, she's at rest, poor soul, I mean my wife: That thought (alas! good heart) love was a toy, Until--well, that time is gone and pass'd away-- But why speak I of this? Hark ye, sweeting, There's more in wedlock than the name can show; And now (by'r Lady) you are ripe in years. And yet take heed, wench, there lies a pad in straw; WAL. Old fornicator! had I my dagger, I'd break his costard. [_Aside._ PIS. Young men are slippery, fickle, wavering; Constant abiding graceth none but age; Then maids should now wax wise, and [should] do so, As to choose constant men, let fickle go. Youth's unregarded and unhonoured: An ancient man doth make a maid a matron, And is not that an honour, how say you? How say you? WAL. Yes, forsooth. O old lust, will you never let me go. [_Aside._ PIS. You say right well; and do but think thereon, How husband's honour'd years, long car'd-for wealth, Wise stayedness, experienc'd government, Doth grace the maid, that thus is made a wife, And you will wish yourself such, on my life. WAL. I think I must turn womankind altogether, and scratch out his eyes; for as long as he can see me, he'll ne'er let me go. [_Aside._ PIS. But go, sweetheart, to bed: I do thee wrong. The lateness now makes all our talk seem long. [_Exit._ How now, Mouche, be the girls abed? ANTH. Mathea, and it like you, fain would sleep, But only tarrieth for her bed-fellow. PIS. Ha! say you well: come, light her to her chamber. Good rest wish I to thee. Wish so to me; Then Susan and Pisaro shall agree. Think but what joy is near your bed-fellow: Such may be yours. Take counsel of your pillow: To-morrow we'll talk more; and so good night, Think what is said may be, if all hit right. WAL. What, have I pass'd the pikes? knows he not Ned? I think I have deserved his daughter's bed.