_Hum._ I shall; then first and foremost, for relief I call to you, if that you can afford it, I care not at what price, for on my word it Shall be repaid again, although it cost me More than I'll speak of now, for love hath tost me In furious blanket like a tennis-ball, And now I rise aloft, and now I fall. _Luce._ Alas, good gentleman, alas the day. _Hum._ I thank you heartily, and as I say, Thus do I still continue without rest, I' th' morning like a man, at night a beast, Roaring and bellowing mine own disquiet, That much I fear, forsaking of my diet, Will bring me presently to that quandary, I shall bid all adieu. _Luce._ Now, by St. Mary That were great pity. _Hum._ So it were, beshrew me, Then ease me, lusty Luce, and pity shew me. _Luce._ Why, sir, you know my will is nothing worth Without my father's grant; get his consent, And then you may with full assurance try me. _Hum._ The worshipful your sire will not deny me, For I have ask'd him, and he hath replied, Sweet Master Humphrey, Luce shall be thy bride. _Luce._ Sweet Master Humphrey, then I am content. _Hum._ And so am I, in truth. _Luce._ Yet take me with you. There is another clause must be annext, And this it is I swore, and will perform it, No man shall ever joy me as his wife, But he that stole me hence. If you dare venture, I'm yours; you need not fear, my father loves you, If not, farewell, for ever. _Hum._ Stay, nymph, stay, I have a double gelding, coloured bay, Sprung by his father from Barbarian kind, Another for myself, though somewhat blind, Yet true as trusty tree. _Luce._ I'm satisfied, And so I give my hand; our course must lie Through Waltham Forest, where I have a friend Will entertain us; so farewell, Sir Humphrey, And think upon your business. [_Exit_ LUCE. _Hum._ Though I die, I am resolv'd to venture life and limb, For one so young, so fair, so kind, so trim. [_Exit_ HUM. _Wife._ By my faith and troth, George, and as I am virtuous, it is e'en the kindest young man that ever trod on shoe-leather; well, go thy ways, if thou hast her not, 'tis not thy fault i'faith. _Cit._ I prithee, mouse, be patient, a shall have her, or I'll make some of 'em smoke for't. _Wife._ That's my good lamb, George; fie, this stinking tobacco kills me, would there were none in England. Now I pray, gentlemen, what good does this stinking tobacco do you? nothing; I warrant you make chimnies o' your faces. Oh, husband, husband, now, now there's Ralph, there's Ralph! _Enter_ RALPH, _like a grocer in his shop, with two prentices, reading "Palmerin of England."_