_M. Mery._ Ye shall not (she sayth) by hir will marry hir cat. Ye are such a calfe, such an asse, such a blocke, Such a lilburne,[481] such a hoball,[482] such a lobcocke,[483] And bicause ye shoulde come to hir at no season, She despised your maship out of all reason. 20 Bawawe[484] what ye say (ko I) of such a jentman, Nay I feare him not (ko she) doe the best he can. He vaunteth him selfe for a man of prowesse greate, Where as a good gander I dare say may him beate. And where he is louted[485] and laughed to skorne, 25 For the veriest dolte that ever was borne, And veriest lubber, sloven and beast, Living in this worlde from the west to the east: D iv _b_ Yet of himselfe hath he suche opinion, That in all the worlde is not the like minion.[486] 30 He thinketh eche woman to be brought in dotage With the onely sight of his goodly personage: Yet none that will have hym: we do hym loute and flocke,[487] And make him among us, our common sporting stocke, And so would I now (ko she) save onely bicause, 35 Better nay (ko I) I lust not medle with dawes. Ye are happy (ko I) that ye are a woman, This would cost you your life in case ye were a man. _R. Royster._ Yea an hundred thousand pound should not save hir life. _M. Mery._ No but that ye wowe hir to have hir to your wife, 40 But I coulde not stoppe hir mouth. _R. Royster._ Heigh how alas, _M. Mery._ Be of good cheere man, and let the worlde passe.[488] _R. Royster._ What shall I doe or say nowe that it will not bee. _M. Mery._ Ye shall have choice of a thousande as good as shee, And ye must pardon hir, it is for lacke of witte. 45 _R. Royster._ Yea, for were not I an husbande for hir fitte? Well what should I now doe? _M. Mery._ In faith I can not tell. _R. Royster._ I will go home and die. _M. Mery._ Then shall I bidde toll the bell? _R. Royster._ No. _M. Mery._ God have mercie on your soule, ah good gentleman, That er ye shuld th[u]s dye for an unkinde woman, 50 Will ye drinke once ere ye goe. _R. Royster._ No, no, I will none. _M. Mery._ How feele[489] your soule to God. _R. Royster._ I am nigh gone. _M. Mery._ And shall we hence streight? _R. Royster._ Yea. _M. Mery._ _Placebo dilexi._ Maister [R]oister Doister will streight go home and die. _ut infra._[490] 54 _R. Royster._ Heigh how, alas, the pangs of death my hearte do breake. _M. Mery._ Holde your peace for shame sir, a dead man may not speake. _Nequando_: What mourners and what torches shall we have? _R. Royster._ None.