make my anger but ridiculous.
There will be a time, and place, there will be, cowards,
When you shall feel what I dare do.

_Wellb._ I think so:
You dare do any ill; yet want true valour
To be honest, and repent.

_Sir G._ They are words I know not,
No e'er will learn. Patience, the beggar's virtue,
Shall find no harbour here.--After these storms,
At length a calm appears.

_Enter_ Greedy _and_ Parson Welldo.

Welcome, most welcome:
There's comfort in thy looks; is the deed done?
Is my daughter married? say but so, my chaplain,
And I am tame.

_Welldo._ Married? yes, I assure you!

_Sir G._ Then vanish all sad thoughts!
My doubts and fears are in the title drown'd
Of my right honourable, right honourable daughter.

_Greedy._ Here will be feasting, at least for a month!

_Sir G._ Instantly be here?

[_Whispering to_ Welldo.

To my wish! to my wish! Now you that plot against me,
And hoped to trip my heels up; that contemn'd me;
Think on't, and tremble. [_Loud Music._] They come, I hear the music.
A lane there!
Make way there for my lord. [_Music._

_Enter_ Allworth _and_ Margaret.

_Marg._ Sir, first your pardon, then your blessing with
Your full allowance of the choice I have made.
As ever you could make use of your reason, [_Kneels._
Grow not in passion; since you may as well
Call back the day that's past, as untie the knot
Which is so strongly fasten'd.
Not to dwell too long on words,
This is my husband.

_Sir G._ How!

_Allw._ So I assure you; all the rites of marriage
With every circumstance are past.
And, for right honourable son-in-law, you may say
Your dutiful daughter.

_Sir G._ Devil! are they married?

_Welldo._ Do a father's part, and say Heaven give them joy!

_Sir G._ Confusion and ruin! Speak, and speak quickly,
Or thou art dead.

_Welldo._ They are married.

_Sir G._ Thou hadst better
Have made a contract with the king of fiends
Than these.----My brain turns!

_Welldo._ Why this rage to me?
Is not this your letter, sir? and these the words?
Marry her to this gentleman.

_Sir G._ It cannot;
Nor will I ever believe it: 'sdeath! I will not.
That I, that in all passages I touch'd
At worldly profit, have not left a print
Where I have trod, for the most curious search
To trace my footsteps; should be gull'd by children!
Baffled and fool'd; and all my hopes and labours
Defeated, and made void.

_Welb._ As it appears,
You are so, my grave uncle.

_Sir