SIR LIONEL. Were not my business earnest, I would see him: But pray entreat him break an hour's sleep To-morrow morn t'accompany me to church; And come yourself, I pray, along with him. _Enter_ SPENDALL. GERA. Sir, I thank you. SIR LIONEL. But look, here comes one, That has but lately shook off his shackles.-- How now, sirrah! wherefore come you? SPEND. I come to crave a pardon, sir, of you; And with hearty and zealous thanks Unto this worthy lady, that hath given me More than I e'er could hope for--liberty. WID. Be thankful unto heaven and your master: Nor let your heart grow bigger than your purse, But live within a limit, lest you burst out To riot and to misery again: For then 'twould lose the benefit I mean it. SIR LIONEL. O, you do graciously; 'tis good advice: Let it take root, sirrah, let it take root. But come, widow, come and see your chamber: Nay, your company too, for I must speak with you. [_Exeunt._ SPEND. 'Tis bound unto you, sir. BUB. And I have to talk with you too, Mistress Joyce. Pray, a word. JOYCE. What would you, sir? BUB. Pray, let me see your hand. The line of your maidenhead is out. Now for your fingers. Upon which finger will you wear your wedding-ring? JOYCE. Upon no finger. BUB. Then I perceive you mean to wear it on your thumb. Well, the time is come, sweet Joyce; the time is come. JOYCE. What to do, sir? BUB. For me to tickle thy _Tu quoque;_ to do the act Of our forefathers: therefore prepare, provide, To-morrow morn to meet me as my bride. [_Exit._ JOYCE. I'll meet thee like a ghost first. GERT. How now, what matter have you fished out of that fool? JOYCE. Matter as poisoning as corruption, That will without some antidote strike home, Like blue infection, to the very heart. W. RASH. As how, for God's sake? JOYCE. To-morrow is the appointed wedding-day. GERT. The day of doom, it is? GERA. 'Twould be a dismal day indeed to some of us. JOYCE. Sir, I do know you love me; and the time Will not be dallied with: be what you seem, Or not the same; I am your wife, your mistress, Or your servant--indeed, what you will make me. Let us no longer wrangle with our wits, Or dally with our fortunes; lead me hence, And carry me into a wilderness: I'll fast with you, rather than feast with him. STAINES. What can be welcomer unto these arms? Not my estate recover'd is more sweet, Nor strikes more joy in me than does your love. W. RASH. Will you both kiss then upon the bargain? Here's two couple on you, God give you joy; I wish well to you, And I see 'tis all the good that I can do you: And so to your shifts I leave you. JOYCE. Nay, brother, you will not leave us thus, I hope.