now I am but young:
The doctor's fit for one of riper years:
Yet, in regard of Honorea's good,
My cousin's profit, and all your contents,
I yield myself to be the doctor's wife.

MOR. 'Tis kindly spoken, gentle Marian.

_Enter_ CASTILIANO.

But here the doctor comes.

LACY. Then I'll away,
Lest he suspect aught by my being here. [_Exit_.

MOR. Do, and let me alone to close with him.

CAS. May he ne'er speak that makes a woman speak!
She talks now sure for all the time that's pass'd:
Her tongue is like a scarecrow in a tree,
That clatters still with every puff of wind.
I have so haunted her from place to place:
About the hall, from thence into the parlour,
Up to the chamber, down into the garden,
And still she rails, and chafes, and scolds,
As if it were the sessions-day in hell.
Yet will I haunt her with an open mouth,
And never leave her till I force her love me.

MOR. Now, master doctor; what, a match or no?

CAS. A match, quoth you? I think the devil himself
Cannot match her; for, if he could, I should. [_Aside_.]

MOR. Well, be content: 'tis I must work the mean
To make her yield, whether she will or no.
My Lord of Kent is gone hence in a chafe,
And now I purpose that she shall be yours,
Yet to herself unknown; for she shall think
That Musgrave is the man, but it shall be you:
Seem you still discontented, and no more.
Go, Mariana, call thy mistress hither.
Now, when she comes, dissemble what you know,
And go away, as if you car'd not for her;
So will she the sooner be brought into it.

[_Exit_ MARIAN.

CAS. My lord, I thank you for your honest care,
And, as I may, will study to requite it.

_Enter_ HONOREA _and_ MARIAN.

But here your daughter comes. No, no, my lord,
'Tis not her[445] favour I regard, nor her;
Your promise 'tis I challenge, which I'll have:
It was my bargain, no man else should have her.
Not that I love her, but I'll not be wrong'd
By any one, my lord; and so I leave you.
[_Exit_ CASTILIANO.

MOR. He's passing cunning to deceive himself:
But all the better for the after-sport.

HON. Sir, did you send for me?

MOR. Honorea, for thee;
And this it is. Howe'er unworthily
I have bestowed my love so long upon thee,
That wilt so manifestly contradict me,
Yet, that thou may'st perceive how I esteem thee,
I make thyself the guardian of thy love,
That thine own fancy may make choice for thee.
I have