_M. Mery._ What shoulde I else sir, it is my duetie pardee: _R. Royster._ I promise thou shalt not lacke, while I have a grote. _M. Mery._ Faith sir, and I nere had more nede of a newe cote. _R. Royster._ Thou shalte have one to morowe, and golde for to spende. 155 _M. Mery._ Then I trust to bring the day to a good ende. For as for mine owne parte having money inowe, I could lyve onely with the remembrance of you. But nowe to your Widowe whome you love so hotte. _R. Royster._ By cocke thou sayest truthe, I had almost forgotte. 160 _M. Mery._ What if Christian Custance will not have you what? _R. Royster._ Have me? yes I warrant you,[383] never doubt of that, I knowe she loveth me, but she dare not speake. B ii _M. Mery._ In deede meete it were some body should it breake. _R. Royster._ She looked on me twentie tymes yesternight, 165 And laughed so. _M. Mery._ That she coulde not sitte upright, _R. Royster._ No faith coulde she not. _M. Mery._ No even such a thing I cast.[384] _R. Royster._ But for wowyng thou knowest women are shamefast. But and she knewe my minde, I knowe she would be glad, And thinke it the best chaunce that ever she had. 170 _M. Mery._ Too[385] hir then like a man, and be bolde forth to starte, Wowers never speede well, that have a false harte. _R. Royster._ What may I best doe? _M. Mery._ Sir remaine ye a while [here[386]]? Ere long one or other of hir house will appere. Ye knowe my minde. 175 _R. Royster._ Yea now hardly[387] lette me alone. _M. Mery._ In the meane time sir, if you please, I wyll home, And call your Musitians,[388] for in this your case It would sette you forth, and all your wowyng grace, Ye may not lacke your instrumentes to play and sing. _R. Royster._ Thou knowest I can doe that. 180 _M. Mery._ As well as any thing. Shall I go call your folkes, that ye may shewe a cast?[389] _R. Royster._ Yea runne I beseeche thee in all possible haste. _M. Mery._ I goe. _Exeat._ _R. Royster._ Yea for I love singyng out of measure, It comforteth my spirites and doth me great pleasure. 185 But who commeth forth yond from my swete hearte Custance? My matter frameth well, thys is a luckie chaunce. Actus. i. Scæna iii. MAGE MUMBLE CRUST,[390] _spinning on the distaffe_. TIBET TALK APACE, _sowyng_. ANNOT ALYFACE, _knittyng_. R. ROISTER. _M. Mumbl._ If thys distaffe were spoonne[,] Margerie Mumblecrust[--] _Tib. Talk._[391] Where good stale ale is will drinke no water I trust. _M. Mumbl._ Dame Custance hath promised us good ale and white bread.[392]