Mir. So, so, so! fair and softly! She is thine own, boy;
She comes now without lure.—

[Apart to him.

Pinac. But that it must needs
Be reckon’d to me as a wantonness,
Or worse, a madness, to forsake a blessing,
A blessing of that hope—

Lil. I dare not urge you:
And yet, dear sir—

Pinac. ’Tis most certain, I had rather,
If ’twere in my own choice—for you’re my countrywoman,
A neighbour, here born by me; she a stranger,
And who knows how her friends—

Lil. Do as you please, sir;
If you be fast, not all the world—I love you.
It is most true, and clear, I would persuade you;
And I shall love you still.

Pinac. Go, get before me:
So much you have won upon me—do it presently:
Here’s a priest ready—I’ll have you.

Lil. Not now, sir;
No, you shall pardon me!—Advance your lady;
I dare not hinder your most high preferment:
’Tis honour enough for me I have unmask’d you.

Pinac. How’s that?

Lil. I have caught you, sir! Alas, I am no stateswoman,
Nor no great traveller, yet I have found you:
I have found your lady too, your beauteous lady;
I have found her birth and breeding too, her discipline,
Who brought her over, and who kept your lady,
And, when he laid her by, what virtuous nunnery
Received her in; I have found all these! Are you blank now?
Methinks, such travell’d wisdoms should not fool thus;
Such excellent indiscretions—

Mir. How could she know this?

Lil. ’Tis true, she is English born, but most part French now,
And so I hope you will find her to your comfort.
Alas, I am ignorant of what she cost you!
The price of these hired clothes I do not know, gentlemen!
Those jewels are the broker’s, how you stand bound for ’em!

Pinac. Will you make this good?

Lil. Yes, yes; and to her face, sir,
That she’s an English whore! a kind of fling-dust,
One of your London light o’loves, a right one!
Came over in thin pumps, and half a petticoat,
One faith, and one smock, with a broken haberdasher:
I know all this without a conjurer.
Her name is Jumping-Joan, an ancient sin-weaver:
She was first a lady’s chambermaid, there slipp’d,
And broke her leg above the knee; departed,
And set up shop herself; stood the fierce conflicts
Of many a furious term; there lost her colours,
And last shipp’d over hither.

Mir. We are betray’d!

Lil. Do you come to fright me with this mystery?
To stir me with a stink none can endure, sir?
I pray you proceed; the wedding will become you!
Who gives the lady? you? An excellent father!
A careful man, and one that knows a beauty!
Send you fair shipping, sir! and so I’ll leave you.
Be wise and manly, then I may chance to love you!

[Exit.

Mir. As I live, I am ashamed this wench has reach’d me,
Monstrous ashamed; but there’s no remedy.
This skew’d-eyed carrion—