urst of the blest.

ILF. How now, my young bully, like a young wench, forty weeks after the
loss of her maidenhead, crying out.

SCAR. Trouble me not. Give me pen, ink, and paper;
I will write to her. O! but what shall I write
In mine excuse?[366] why, no excuse can serve
For him that swears, and from his oath doth swerve.
Or shall I say my marriage was enforc'd?
'Twas bad in them; not well in me to yield:
Wretched they two, whose marriage was compell'd.
I'll only write that which my grief hath bred:
Forgive me, Clare, for I am married:
'Tis soon set down, but not so soon forgot
Or worn from hence--
Deliver it unto her, there's for thy pains.
Would I as soon could cleanse these perjur'd stains!

CLOWN. Well, I could alter mine eyes from filthy mud into fair water:
you have paid for my tears, and mine eyes shall prove bankrouts, and
break out for you. Let no man persuade me: I will cry, and every town
betwixt Shoreditch Church and York Bridge shall bear me witness.
[_Exit_.

SCAR. Gentlemen, I'll take my leave of you,
She that I am married to, but not my wife,
Will London leave, in Yorkshire lead our life. [_Exit_.

ILF. We must not leave you so, my young gallant; we three are sick in
state, and your wealth must help to make us whole again. For this saying
is as true as old--
Strife nurs'd 'twixt man and wife makes such a flaw,
How great soe'er their wealth, 'twill have a thaw.

[_Exeunt_.

_Enter_ SIR JOHN HARCOP _with his daughter_ CLARE,
_and two younger brothers_, THOMAS _and_ JOHN SCARBOROW.

HAR. Brothers to him ere long shall be my son
By wedding this young girl: you are welcome both.
Nay, kiss her, kiss her; though that she shall be
Your brother's wife, to kiss the cheek is free.

THOM. Kiss, 'sfoot, what else? thou art a good plump wench, I like you
well; prythee, make haste and bring store of boys; but be sure they have
good faces, that they may call me uncle.

JOHN. Glad of so fair a sister, I salute you.

HAR. Good, good, i' faith, this kissing's good, i' faith,
I lov'd to smack it too when I was young,
But mum: they have felt thy cheek, Clare, let them hear thy tongue.

CLARE. Such welcome as befits my Scarborow's brothers,
From me his trothplight wife be sure to have,
And though my tongue prove scant in any part,
The bounds be sure are full large[367] in my heart.

THOM