WOOER. “His shackles will betray him; he’ll be taken, And what shall I do then? I’ll bring a bevy, A hundred black-eyed maids that love as I do, With chaplets on their heads of daffadillies, With cherry lips and cheeks of damask roses, And all we’ll dance an antic ’fore the Duke, And beg his pardon.” Then she talked of you, sir; That you must lose your head tomorrow morning, And she must gather flowers to bury you, And see the house made handsome. Then she sung Nothing but “Willow, willow, willow,” and between Ever was “Palamon, fair Palamon,” And “Palamon was a tall young man.” The place Was knee-deep where she sat; her careless tresses, A wreath of bulrush rounded; about her stuck Thousand fresh water-flowers of several colours, That methought she appeared like the fair nymph That feeds the lake with waters, or as Iris Newly dropped down from heaven. Rings she made Of rushes that grew by, and to ’em spoke The prettiest posies: “Thus our true love’s tied,” “This you may loose, not me,” and many a one; And then she wept, and sung again, and sighed, And with the same breath smiled and kissed her hand. SECOND FRIEND. Alas, what pity it is! WOOER. I made in to her. She saw me, and straight sought the flood. I saved her And set her safe to land, when presently She slipped away, and to the city made With such a cry and swiftness that, believe me, She left me far behind her. Three or four I saw from far off cross her—one of ’em I knew to be your brother—where she stayed And fell, scarce to be got away. I left them with her And hither came to tell you. Enter Jailer’s Brother, Jailer’s Daughter and others. Here they are. DAUGHTER. [_Sings_.] _May you never more enjoy the light, &c._ Is not this a fine song? BROTHER. O, a very fine one. DAUGHTER. I can sing twenty more. BROTHER. I think you can. DAUGHTER. Yes, truly can I. I can sing “The Broom” and “Bonny Robin.” Are not you a tailor? BROTHER. Yes. DAUGHTER. Where’s my wedding gown? BROTHER. I’ll bring it tomorrow. DAUGHTER. Do, very rarely, I must be abroad else To call the maids and pay the minstrels, For I must lose my maidenhead by cocklight. ’Twill never thrive else. [_Sings_.] _O fair, O sweet, &c._ BROTHER. [_To Jailer._] You must e’en take it patiently. JAILER. ’Tis true. DAUGHTER. Good ev’n, good men; pray, did you ever hear Of one young Palamon? JAILER. Yes, wench, we know him. DAUGHTER. Is’t not a fine young gentleman? JAILER. ’Tis, love. BROTHER. By no means cross her; she is then distempered Far worse than now she shows. FIRST FRIEND. Yes, he’s a fine man. DAUGHTER. O, is he so? You have a sister? FIRST FRIEND. Yes. DAUGHTER. But she shall never have him, tell her so, For a trick that I know; you’d best look to her, For if she see him once, she’s gone, she’s done, And undone in an hour. All the young maids Of our town are in love with him, but I laugh at ’em And let ’em all alone. Is ’t not a wise course? FIRST FRIEND. Yes.