And thus late too? what, hath your mother sent ye
To cut my throat, that here you be in wait?--
Come from him, mistress, and let go his hand.--
Will ye not, sir?

FRAN. Stay, Mistress Barnes, or mother--what ye will;
She is[329] my wife, and here she shall be still.

MRS BAR. How, sir? your wife! wouldst thou my daughter have?
I'll rather have her married to her grave.[330]
Go to; be gone, and quickly, or I swear
I'll have my men beat ye for staying here.

PHIL. Beat him, mother! as I am true[331] man,
They were better beat the devil and his dam.

MRS BAR. What, wilt thou take his part?

PHIL. To do him good,
And 'twere to wade hitherto up in blood.

FRAN. God-a-mercy, Philip!--But, mother, hear me.

MRS BAR. Call'st thou me mother? no, thy mother's name
Carries about with it reproach and shame.
Give me my daughter: ere that she shall wed
A strumpet's son, and have her so misled,
I'll marry her to a carter; come, I say,
Give me her from thee.

FRAN. Mother, not to-day,
Nor yet to-morrow, till my life's last morrow
Make me leave that which I with leave did borrow:
Here I have borrowed love, I'll not denay[332] it.--
Thy wedding night's my day, then I'll repay it.--
Till then she'll trust me. Wench, is't[333] not so?
And if it be, say ay, if not, say no.

MAL. Mother, good mother, hear me! O good God,
Now we are even, what, would you make us odd?
Now, I beseech ye, for the love of Christ,
To give me leave once to do what I list.
I am as you were, when you were a maid;
Guess by yourself how long you would have stay'd,
Might you have had your will: as good begin
At first as last, it saves us from much sin;
Lying alone, we muse on things and things,
And in our minds one thought another brings:
This maid's life, mother, is an idle life,
Therefore I'll be, ay, I will be a wife;
And, mother, do not mistrust[334] my age or power,
I am sufficient, I lack ne'er an hour;
I had both wit to grant, when he did woo me,
And strength to bear whate'er he can do to me.

MRS BAR. Well, bold-face, but I mean to make ye stay.
Go to, come from him, or I'll make ye come:
Will ye not come?

PHIL. Mother, I pray, forbear;
This match is for my sister.

MRS BAR. Villain, 'tis not;
Nor she shall not be so match'd now.[335]

PHIL. In troth, she shall, and your unruly hate
Shall not rule us; we'll end all this debate
By this begun device.

MRS BAR. Ay, end what you begun! Villains, thieves,
Give me my daughter! will ye