DOCTOR. ’Twas well done. Twenty times had been far better, For there the cure lies mainly. WOOER. Then she told me She would watch with me tonight, for well she knew What hour my fit would take me. DOCTOR. Let her do so, And when your fit comes, fit her home, and presently. WOOER. She would have me sing. DOCTOR. You did so? WOOER. No. DOCTOR. ’Twas very ill done, then; You should observe her every way. WOOER. Alas, I have no voice, sir, to confirm her that way. DOCTOR. That’s all one, if ye make a noise. If she entreat again, do anything. Lie with her, if she ask you. JAILER. Hoa, there, doctor! DOCTOR. Yes, in the way of cure. JAILER. But first, by your leave, I’ th’ way of honesty. DOCTOR. That’s but a niceness, Ne’er cast your child away for honesty. Cure her first this way; then if she will be honest, She has the path before her. JAILER. Thank ye, Doctor. DOCTOR. Pray, bring her in, And let’s see how she is. JAILER. I will, and tell her Her Palamon stays for her. But, Doctor, Methinks you are i’ th’ wrong still. [_Exit Jailer._] DOCTOR. Go, go; You fathers are fine fools. Her honesty? An we should give her physic till we find that! WOOER. Why, do you think she is not honest, sir? DOCTOR. How old is she? WOOER. She’s eighteen. DOCTOR. She may be, But that’s all one; ’tis nothing to our purpose. Whate’er her father says, if you perceive Her mood inclining that way that I spoke of, _Videlicet_, the way of flesh—you have me? WOOER. Yes, very well, sir. DOCTOR. Please her appetite, And do it home; it cures her, _ipso facto_, The melancholy humour that infects her. WOOER. I am of your mind, Doctor. Enter Jailer, Jailer’s Daughter and Maid. DOCTOR. You’ll find it so. She comes, pray, humour her. JAILER. Come, your love Palamon stays for you, child, And has done this long hour, to visit you. DAUGHTER. I thank him for his gentle patience; He’s a kind gentleman, and I am much bound to him. Did you ne’er see the horse he gave me? JAILER. Yes. DAUGHTER. How do you like him? JAILER. He’s a very fair one. DAUGHTER. You never saw him dance? JAILER. No. DAUGHTER. I have often. He dances very finely, very comely, And for a jig, come cut and long tail to him, He turns ye like a top. JAILER. That’s fine, indeed. DAUGHTER. He’ll dance the morris twenty mile an hour, And that will founder the best hobby-horse If I have any skill in all the parish, And gallops to the tune of “Light o’ love.” What think you of this horse? JAILER. Having these virtues, I think he might be brought to play at tennis. DAUGHTER. Alas, that’s nothing. JAILER. Can he write and read too? DAUGHTER. A very fair hand, and casts himself th’ accounts Of all his hay and provender. That hostler Must rise betime that cozens him. You know The chestnut mare the Duke has? JAILER. Very well. DAUGHTER. She is horribly in love with him, poor beast; But he is like his master, coy and scornful. JAILER. What dowry has she?