t me no hearts! you shall not have it, sir,
No, you shall not; ne'er look so big,
I will not be afraid at your great looks;
You shall not have it, no, you shall not have it.

MR GOUR. Shall I not have it? in troth, I'll try that:
Minion, I'll ha''t; shall I not ha''t?--I am loth--
Go to, take pausement, be advis'd--
In faith, I will; and stand not long upon it--
A woman of your years! I am asham'd
A couple of so long continuance
Should thus--God's foot--I cry God heart'ly mercy!--
Go to, ye vex me; and I'll vex ye for it;
Before I leave ye, I will make ye glad
To tender it on your knees; hear ye, I will, I will.
What, worse and worse stomach! true faith,
Shall I be cross'd by you in my old age?
And where I should have greatest comfort, too,
A nurse of you?--nurse in the devil's name!--
Go to, mistress; by God's precious deer,
If ye delay--

MRS GOUR. Lord, Lord, why, in what a fit
Are you in, husband! so enrag'd, so mov'd,
And for so slight a cause, to read a letter!
Did this letter, love, contain my death,
Should you deny my sight of it, I would not
Nor see my sorrow nor eschew my danger,
But willingly yield me a patient
Unto the doom that your displeasure gave.
Here is the letter; not for that your incensement
[_Gives back the letter_.]
Makes me make offer of it, but your health,
Which anger, I do fear, hath craz'd[296],
And viper-like hath suck'd away the blood
That wont was to be cheerful in this cheek:
How pale ye look!

MR GOUR. Pale! Can ye blame me for it? I tell you true,
An easy matter could not thus have moved me.
Well, this resignment--and so forth--but, woman,
This fortnight shall I not forget ye for it.--
Ha, ha, I see that roughness can do somewhat!
I did not think, good faith, I could have set
So sour a face upon it, and to her,
My bed-embracer, my right bosom friend.
I would not that she should have seen the letter--
As poor a man as I am--by my troth,
For twenty pound: well, I am glad I have it. [_Aside_.]
Ha, here's ado about a thing of nothing!
What, stomach, ha! 'tis happy you're come down.
[_Exit_.

MRS GOUR. Well, crafty[297] fox, I'll hunt ye, by my troth,
Deal ye so closely! Well, I see his drift:
He would not let me see the letter, lest
That I should cross the match; and I will cross it.
Dick Coomes!

_Enter_ COOMES.

COOMES. Forsooth.

MRS GOUR. Come hither, Dick; thou art a man I love,