Nur. God in heauen blesse her,
You are too blame my Lord to rate her so

Fa. And why my Lady wisedome? hold your tongue,
Good Prudence, smatter with your gossip, go

Nur. I speak no treason,
Father, O Godigoden,
May not one speake?
Fa. Peace you mumbling foole,
Vtter your grauitie ore a Gossips bowles
For here we need it not

La. You are too hot

Fa. Gods bread, it makes me mad:
Day, night, houre, ride, time, worke, play,
Alone in companie, still my care hath bin
To haue her matcht, and hauing now prouided
A Gentleman of Noble Parentage,
Of faire Demeanes, Youthfull, and Nobly Allied,
Stuft as they say with Honourable parts,
Proportion'd as ones thought would wish a man,
And then to haue a wretched puling foole,
A whining mammet, in her Fortunes tender,
To answer, Ile not wed, I cannot Loue:
I am too young, I pray you pardon me.
But, and you will not wed, Ile pardon you.
Graze where you will, you shall not house with me: