angry women of Abington.
For maides that weares Corke shooes, may step awry.
M. Bar. Beleeue me wench, I doe not apprehend thee,
But for this pleasant answere do commend thee.
I must confesse, loue doth thee mighty wrong,
But I will see thee haue thy right ere long,
I know a young man, whom I holde most fit,
To haue thee, both for liuing and for wit,
I will goe write about it presently.
But for this pleasant answere do commend thee.
I must confesse, loue doth thee mighty wrong,
But I will see thee haue thy right ere long,
I know a young man, whom I holde most fit,
To haue thee, both for liuing and for wit,
I will goe write about it presently.
Mall. Good father do, O God me thinkes I should
Wife it as fine as any woman could:
I could carry a porte to he obayde,
Carry a maistering eye vpon my maide,
With minion do your businesse or Ile make yee,
And to all house authoritie be take me.
O God would I were married, be my troth,
But if I be not, I sweare Ile keepe my oath.
Wife it as fine as any woman could:
I could carry a porte to he obayde,
Carry a maistering eye vpon my maide,
With minion do your businesse or Ile make yee,
And to all house authoritie be take me.
O God would I were married, be my troth,
But if I be not, I sweare Ile keepe my oath.
Ent. Mi. Ba. How now minion, wher haue you bin gadding
Mall. Forsooth my father called me forth to him.
Mi. Bar. Your Father, and what said he too ye I pray?
Mall. Nothing forsooth.
Mi. Bar. Nothing that cannot be, something he said.
Mall. I something, that as good as nothing was.
Mi. Bar. Come let me heare, that somthing nothing then
Mal. Nothing but of a husband for me mother.
Mi. Ba. A husband, that was somthing, but what husband
Mall. Nay faith I know not mother, would I did.
Mis. Bar. I would ye did, I faith are ye so hasty?
Mall. Hasty mother, why how olde am I?
Mas. Ba. Too yong to marry.
Mal. Nay by the masse ye lie
Mother, how olde were you when you did marry.
Mother, how olde were you when you did marry.
Mis. Ba. How olde so ere I was, yet you shall tarry.
Mall. Then the worse for me, hark Mother harke,
The Priest forgets that ere he was a Clarke,
When you were at my yeeres, Ile holde my life,
Your minde was to change maidenhead for wife,
Pardon me mother, I am of your minde,
And by my troth I take it but by kinde.
The Priest forgets that ere he was a Clarke,
When you were at my yeeres, Ile holde my life,
Your minde was to change maidenhead for wife,
Pardon me mother, I am of your minde,
And by my troth I take it but by kinde.
Mis. Bar. Doe ye heare daughter, you shal stay my leasure
Mall.
