+M. Mery.+ Doe ye feele no pangues of dotage? aunswere me right. +C. Custance.+ I dote so, that I make but one sleepe all the night But what neede all these wordes? +M. Mery.+ Oh Iesus, will ye see What dissemblyng creatures these same women be? The gentleman ye wote of, whome ye doe so loue, That ye woulde fayne marrie him, yf ye durst it moue, Emong other riche widowes, which are of him glad, Lest ye for lesing of him perchaunce might runne mad, Is nowe contented that vpon your sute making, Ye be as one in election of taking. +C. Custance.+ What a tale is this? that I wote of? whome I loue? +M. Mery.+ Yea and he is as louing a worme againe as a doue. Een of very pitie he is willyng you to take, Bicause ye shall not destroy your selfe for his sake. +C. Custance.+ Mary God yelde his mashyp what euer he be, It is gentmanly spoken. +M. Mery.+ Is it not trowe ye? If ye haue the grace now to offer your self, ye speede. +C. Custance.+ As muche as though I did, this time it shall not neede, But what gentman is it, I pray you tell me plaine, That woweth so finely? +M. Mery.+ Lo where ye be againe, As though ye knewe him not. +C. Custance.+ Tush ye speake in iest. +M. Mery.+ Nay sure, the partie is in good knacking earnest, And haue you he will (he sayth) and haue you he must. +C. Custance.+ I am promised duryng my life, that is iust. +M. Mery.+ Mary so thinketh he, vnto him alone. +C. Custance.+ No creature hath my faith and trouth but one, That is Gawin Goodlucke: and if it be not hee, He hath no title this way what euer he be, Nor I know none to whome I haue such worde spoken. +M. Mery.+ Ye knowe him not you by his letter and token. +C. Custance.+ In dede true it is, that a letter I haue, But I neuer reade it yet as God me saue. +M. Mery.+ Ye a woman? and your letter so long vnredde. +C. Custance.+ Ye may therby know what hast I haue to wedde. But now who it is, for my hande I knowe by gesse. +M. Mery.+ Ah well I say. +C. Custance.+ It is Roister Doister doubtlesse. +M. Mery.+ Will ye neuer leaue this dissimulation? Ye know hym not. +C. Custance.+ But by imagination, For no man there is but a very dolt and loute That to wowe a Widowe woulde so go about. He shall neuer haue me hys wife while he doe liue. +M. Mery.+ Then will he haue you if he may, so mote I thriue, And he biddeth you sende him worde by me, That ye humbly beseech him, ye may his wife be, And that there shall be no let in you nor mistrust, But to be wedded on sunday next if he lust, And biddeth you to looke for him. +C. Custance.+ Doth he byd so? +M. Mery.+ When he commeth, aske hym whether he did or no? +C. Custance.+ Goe say, that I bid him keepe him warme at home For if he come abroade, he shall cough me a mome. My mynde was vexed, I shrew his head sottish dolt. +M. Mery.+ He hath in his head. +C. Custance.+ As much braine as a burbolt. +M. Mery.+ Well dame Custance, if he heare you thus play choploge. +C. Custance.+ What will he?