_Gons_. I knew thou would'st not do't. _Hip_. I swear I would: But, sir, I grieve to be the messenger Of more unhappy news; she must be married This day to one Don Roderick de Sylva, Betwixt whom and her brother there has been. A long (and it was thought a mortal) quarrel, But now it must for ever end in peace: For, happening both to love each others sisters, They have concluded it in a cross marriage; Which, in the palace of Don Rodorick, They went to celebrate from their countryhouse, When, taken by the thieves, you rescued them. _Gons_. Methinks I am grown patient on a sudden, And all my rage is gone: like losing gamesters, Who fret and storm, and swear at little losses; But, when they see all hope of fortune vanished, Submit, and gain a temper by their ruin. _Hip_. Would you could cast this love, which troubles you, Out of your mind! _Gons_. I cannot, boy; but since Her brother, with intent to cozen me, Made me the promise of his best assistance, I'll take some course to be revenged of him. [_Is going out_. But stay--I charge thee, boy, discover not To any, who I am. _Hip_. Alas, I cannot, sir; I know you not. _Gons_. Why, there's it; I am mad again; Oh love! _Hip_. Oh love! [_Exeunt_. SCENE II. _Enter two Servants of Don_ RODORICK'S, _placing chairs, and talking as they place them_. _1 Serv_. Make ready quickly there; Don Manuel And his fair sister, that must be our lady, Are coming in. _2 Serv_. They have been long expected; 'Tis evening now, and the canonic hours For marriage are past. _1 Serv_. The nearer bedtime, The better still; my lord will not defer it: He swears, the clergy are no fit judges Of our necessities. _2 Serv_. Where is my lord? _1 Serv_. Gone out to meet his bride. _2 Serv_. I wonder that my lady Angelina Went not with him; she's to be married too. _1 Serv_. I do not think she fancies much the man: Only, to make the reconcilement perfect Betwixt the families, she's passive in it; The choice being but her brother's, not her own. _2 Serv_. Troth, were't my case, I cared not who chose for me. _1 Serv_. Nor I; 'twould save the process of a tedious passion, A long law-suit of love, which quite consumes An honest lover, ere he gets possession: I would come plump, and fresh, and all my self, Served up to my bride's bed like a fat fowl, Before the frost of love had nipped me through. I look on wives as on good dull companions, For elder brothers to sleep out their time with; All, we can hope for in the marriage-bed, Is but to take our rest; and what care I, Who lays my pillow for me? _Enter a Poet with verses_. _1 Serv_. Now, what's your business, friend? _Poet_. An epithalamium, to the noble bridegrooms. _1 Serv_. Let me see; what's here? as I live, [_Takes it_. Nothing but downright bawdry: Sirrah, rascal, Is this an age for ribaldry in verse; When every gentleman in town speaks it With so much better grace, than thou canst write it? I'll beat thee with a stave of thy own rhymes.