erreach.

The end may yet prove happy: now, my Allworth.

_Allw._ To your letter, and put on a seeming anger.

_Marg._ I'll pay my lord all debts due to his title,
And, when, with terms not taking from his honour
He does solicit me, I shall gladly hear him:
But in this peremptory, nay, commanding, way,
T'appoint a meeting, and without my knowledge;
A priest to tie the knot, can ne'er be undone
Till death unloose it, is a confidence
In his lordship that will deceive him.

_Allw._ I hope better, good lady.

_Marg._ Hope, sir, what you please: for me,
I must take a safe and secure course; I have
A father, and without his full consent,
Though all lords of the land kneel'd for my favour,
I can grant nothing.

_Sir G._ I like this obedience.
But whatsoever my lord writes, must and shall be
Accepted and embrac'd. [_Aside._]--Sweet Mr. Allworth,
You show yourself a true and faithful servant
To your good lord; he has a jewel of you.
How! frowning, Meg! are these looks to receive
A messenger from my lord? What's this? give me it.

_Marg._ A piece of arrogant paper, like th'inscriptions.

[Sir Giles _reads the letter_.

Fair mistress, from your servant learn, all joys
That we can hope for, if deferr'd prove toys;
Therefore this instant, and in private, meet
A husband, that will gladly at your feet
Lay down his honours, tend'ring them to you
With all content, the church being paid her due.

_Sir G._ Is this the arrogant piece of paper? fool!
Will you still be one? In the name of madness, what
Could his good honour write more to content you?
Is there aught else to be wish'd after these two
That are already offer'd?
What would you more?

_Marg._ Why, sir, I would be married like your daughter,
Not hurried away i'th' night, I know not whither,
Without all ceremony; no friends invited,
To honour the solemnity.

_Allw._ An't please your honour,
(For so before tomorrow I must style you,)
My lord desires this privacy, in respect
His honourable kinsmen are far off,
And his desires to have it done brook not
So long delay as to expect their coming;
And yet he stands resolv'd, with all due pomp,
To have his marriage at court celebrated,
When he has brought your honour up to London.

_Sir G._ He tells you true; 'tis the fashion on my knowledge:
Yet the good lord, to please your peevishness,
Must put it off, forsooth.

_Marg._ I could be contented,
Were you but by, to do a father's part,
And give me in the churc