_Hum._ I must, I must, and thus it is agreed, Your daughter rides upon a brown bay steed, I on a sorrel, which I bought of Brian, The honest host of the Red Roaring Lion, In Waltham situate: then if you may, Consent in seemly sort, lest by delay, The fatal sisters come, and do the office, And then you'll sing another song. _Merch._ Alas, Why should you be thus full of grief to me, That do as willing as yourself agree To anything, so it be good and fair? Then steal her when you will, if such a pleasure Content you both, I'll sleep and never see it, To make your joys more full: but tell me why You may not here perform your marriage? _Wife._ God's blessing o' thy soul, old man, i'faith thou art loath to part true hearts: I see a has her, George, and I'm glad on't; well, go thy ways, Humphrey, for a fair-spoken man. I believe thou hast not a fellow within the walls of London; an' I should say the suburbs too, I should not lie. Why dost not thou rejoice with me, George? _Cit._ If I could but see Ralph again, I were as merry as mine host i'faith. _Hum._ The cause you seem to ask, I thus declare; Help me, O Muses nine: your daughter sware A foolish oath, the more it was the pity: Yet no one but myself within this city Shall dare to say so, but a bold defiance Shall meet him, were he of the noble science. And yet she sware, and yet why did she swear? Truly I cannot tell, unless it were For her own ease; for sure sometimes an oath, Being sworn thereafter, is like cordial broth: And this it was she swore, never to marry, But such a one whose mighty arm could carry (As meaning me, for I am such a one) Her bodily away through stick and stone, Till both of us arrive, at her request, Some ten miles off in the wide Waltham Forést. _Merch._ If this be all, you shall not need to fear Any denial in your love; proceed, I'll neither follow nor repent the deed. _Hum._ Good night, twenty good nights, and twenty more, And twenty more good nights: that makes threescore. [_Exeunt._ _Enter_ MISTRESS MERRY-THOUGHT _and her son_ MICHAEL. _Mist. Mer._ Come, Michael, art thou not weary, boy? _Mich._ No, forsooth, mother, not I. _Mist. Mer._ Where be we now, child? _Mich._ Indeed forsooth, mother, I cannot tell, unless we be at Mile End. Is not all the world Mile End, mother? _Mist. Mer._ No, Michael, not all the world, boy; but I can assure thee, Michael, Mile End is a goodly matter. There has been a pitched field, my child, between the naughty Spaniels and the Englishmen; and the Spaniels ran away, Michael, and the Englishmen followed. My neighbour Coxstone was there, boy, and killed them all with a birding-piece. _Mich._ Mother, forsooth. _Mist. Mer._ What says my white boy? _Mich._ Shall not my father go with us too?