Slen. I had a father (M[istris]. An) my vncle can tel you good iests of him: pray you Vncle, tel Mist[ris]. Anne the iest how my Father stole two Geese out of a Pen, good Vnckle Shal. Mistris Anne, my Cozen loues you Slen. I that I do, as well as I loue any woman in Glocestershire Shal. He will maintaine you like a Gentlewoman Slen. I that I will, come cut and long-taile, vnder the degree of a Squire Shal. He will make you a hundred and fiftie pounds ioynture Anne. Good Maister Shallow let him woo for himselfe Shal. Marrie I thanke you for it: I thanke you for that good comfort: she cals you (Coz) Ile leaue you Anne. Now Master Slender Slen. Now good Mistris Anne Anne. What is your will? Slen. My will? Odd's-hartlings, that's a prettie iest indeede: I ne're made my Will yet (I thanke Heauen:) I am not such a sickely creature, I giue Heauen praise Anne. I meane (M[aster]. Slender) what wold you with me? Slen. Truely, for mine owne part, I would little or nothing with you: your father and my vncle hath made motions: if it be my lucke, so; if not, happy man bee his dole, they can tell you how things go, better then I can: you may aske your father, heere he comes Page. Now Mr Slender; Loue him daughter Anne. Why how now? What does Mr Fenten here? You wrong me Sir, thus still to haunt my house. I told you Sir, my daughter is disposd of Fen. Nay Mr Page, be not impatient Mist.Page. Good M[aster]. Fenton, come not to my child Page. She is no match for you Fen. Sir, will you heare me? Page. No, good M[aster]. Fenton. Come M[aster]. Shallow: Come sonne Slender, in; Knowing my minde, you wrong me (M[aster]. Fenton.) Qui. Speake to Mistris Page Fen. Good Mist[ris]. Page, for that I loue your daughter In such a righteous fashion as I do, Perforce, against all checkes, rebukes, and manners, I must aduance the colours of my loue, And not retire. Let me haue your good will An. Good mother, do not marry me to yond foole Mist.Page. I meane it not, I seeke you a better husband Qui. That's my master, M[aster]. Doctor An. Alas I had rather be set quick i'th earth, And bowl'd to death with Turnips Mist.Page. Come, trouble not your selfe good M[aster]. Fenton, I will not be your friend, nor enemy: My daughter will I question how she loues you, And as I finde her, so am I affected: Till then, farewell Sir, she must needs go in, Her father will be angry Fen. Farewell gentle Mistris: farewell Nan Qui. This is my doing now: Nay, saide I, will you cast away your childe on a Foole, and a Physitian: Looke on M[aster]. Fenton, this is my doing Fen. I thanke thee: and I pray thee once to night, Giue my sweet Nan this Ring: there's for thy paines