+M. Mery.+ Fy fy for shame Loue ye, and know not whome? but hir yonde, a Woman, We shall then get you a Wyfe, I can not tell whan. +R. Royster.+ The faire Woman, that supped wyth vs yesternyght, And I hearde hir name twice or thrice, and had it ryght. +M. Mery.+ Yea, ye may see ye nere take me to good cheere with you, If ye had, I coulde haue tolde you hir name now. +R. Royster.+ I was to blame in deede, but the nexte tyme perchaunce: And she dwelleth in this house. +M. Mery.+ What Christian Custance. +R. Royster.+ Except I haue hir to my Wife, I shall runne madde. +M. Mery.+ Nay vnwise perhaps, but I warrant you for madde. +R. Royster.+ I am vtterly dead vnlesse I haue my desire. +M. Mery.+ Where be the bellowes that blewe this sodeine fire? +R. Royster.+ I heare she is worthe a thousande pounde and more. +M. Mery.+ Yea, but learne this one lesson of me afore, An hundred pounde of Marriage money doubtlesse, Is euer thirtie pounde sterlyng, or somewhat lesse, So that hir Thousande pounde yf she be thriftie, Is muche neere about two hundred and fiftie, Howebeit wowers and Widowes are neuer poore. +R. Royster.+ Is she a Widowe? I loue hir better therefore. +M. Mery.+ But I heare she hath made promise to another. +R. Royster.+ He shall goe without hir, and he were my brother. +M. Mery.+ I haue hearde say, I am right well aduised, That she hath to Gawyn Goodlucke promised. +R. Royster.+ What is that Gawyn Goodlucke? +M. Mery.+ a Merchant man. +R. Royster.+ Shall he speede afore me? nay sir by sweete Sainct Anne. Ah sir, Backare quod Mortimer to his sowe, I wyll haue hir myne owne selfe I make God a vow. For I tell thee, she is worthe a thousande pounde. +M. Mery.+ Yet a fitter wife for your maship might be founde: Suche a goodly man as you, might get one wyth lande, Besides poundes of golde a thousande and a thousande, And a thousande, and a thousande, and a thousande, And so to the summe of twentie hundred thousande, Your most goodly personage is worthie of no lesse. +R. Royster.+ I am sorie God made me so comely doubtlesse. For that maketh me eche where so highly fauoured, And all women on me so enamoured. +M. Mery.+ Enamoured quod you? haue ye spied out that? Ah sir, mary nowe I see you know what is what. Enamoured ka? mary sir say that againe, But I thought not ye had marked it so plaine. +R. Royster.+ Yes, eche where they gaze all vpon me and stare.