MR[S] BAR. Thy mother grants, my girl, and she doth pray To send unto you both a joyful day!
HOD. Nay, Mistress Barnes, I wish her better: that those joyful days may be turn'd to joyful nights.
COOMES. Faith, 'tis a pretty wench, and 'tis pity but she should have him.
NICH. And, Mistress Mary, when ye go to bed, God send you good rest, and a peck of fleas in your nest, every one as big as Francis!
PHIL. Well said, wisdom! God send thee wise children!
NICH. 'Twill be a good while, ere you wish your skin full of eyelet-holes.
PHIL. Frank, hark ye: brother, now your wooing's done, The next thing now you do is for a son, I prythee; for, i'faith, I should be glad To have myself called nunkle[444], and thou dad. Well, sister, if that Francis play the man, My mother must be grandam and you mam. To it, Francis--to it, sister!--God send ye joy! 'Tis fine to sing, dancey, my own sweet boy!
MR BAR. Well, may she prove a happy wife to him!
MR GOUR. And may he prove as happy unto her!
SIR RALPH. Well, gentlemen, good hap betide them both! Since 'twas my hap thus happily to meet, To be a witness of this sweet contract, I do rejoice; wherefore, to have this joy Longer present with me, I do request That all of you will be my promis'd guests: This long night's labour doth desire some rest, Besides this wished end; therefore, I pray, Let me detain ye but a dinner time: Tell me, I pray, shall I obtain so much?
MR BAR. Gentle Sir Ralph, your courtesy is such, As may impose command unto us all; We will be thankful bold at your request.
PHIL. I pray, Sir Ralph, what cheer shall we have?
SIR RALPH. I'faith, country fare, mutton and veal, Perchance a duck or goose [upon the platter.]
MAL. Father and mother, if you needs would know, He nam'd a goose, which is my stomach's foe.
PHIL. Come, come, she is with child of some odd jest, And now she's sick, till that she bring[446] it forth.
MAL. A jest, quoth you! well, brother, if it be, I fear 'twill prove an earnest unto me. Goose, said ye, sir? O, that same very name Hath in it much variety of shame! Of all the birds that ever yet was seen, I would not have them graze upon this green; I hope they will not, for this crop is poor, And they may pasture upon greater store: But yet 'tis pity that they let them pass, And like a common bite the Muse's grass. Yet this I fear: if Frank and I should kiss, Some creaking goose would chide us with a hiss; I mean not that goose that Sings it knows not what; 'Tis not that hiss, when one says, "hist, come hither," Nor that same hiss that setteth dogs together, Nor that same hiss that by a fire doth stand, And hisseth T. or F.[447] upon the hand; But 'tis a hiss, and I'll unlace my coat, For I should sound[448] sure, if I heard that note, And then green ginger for the green goose cries, Serves not the turn--I turn'd the white of eyes. The _rosa-solis_ yet that makes me live Is favour[449] that these gentlemen may give; But if they be displeased, then pleas'd am I To yield myself a hissing death to die. Yet I hope here is[450] none consents to kill, But kindly take the favour of good-will. If any thing be in the pen to blame, Then here stand I to blush the writer's shame: If this be bad, he promises a better; Trust him, and he will prove a right true debtor.