[Enter sir John of Wrotham and Doll.]
DOLL.
By my troth, thou art as jealous a man as lives.
PRIEST.
Canst thou blame me, Doll? thou art my lands, my goods,
my jewels, my wealth, my purse. None walks within xl.
miles of London, but a plies thee as truly as the parish does
the poor man's box.
DOLL.
I am as true to thee as the stone is in the wall; and thou
knowest well enough, sir John, I was in as good doing,
when I came to thee, as any wench need to be; and therefore
thou hast tried me, that thou hast: by God's body, I will
not be kept as I have been, that I will not.
PRIEST.
Doll, if this blade hold, there's not a peddlar walks with a
pack, but thou shalt as boldly choose of his wares, as with
thy ready money in a Merchant's shop. We'll have as good
silver as the King coins any.
DOLL.
What, is all the gold spent you took the last day from the
Courtier?
PRIEST.
Tis gone, Doll, tis flown; merely come, merely gone: he
comes a horse back that much pay for all. We'll have as
good meat as money can get, and as good gowns as can be
bought for gold. Be merry, wench, the malt-man comes on
Monday.
DOLL.
You might have left me at Cobham, until you had been
better provided for.
PRIEST.
No, sweet Doll, no: I do not like that. Yond old ruffian is
not for the priest: I do not like a new clerk should come in
the old belfry.
DOLL.
Ah, thou art a mad priest, yfaith.
PRIEST.
Come, Doll; I'll see thee safe at some alehouse here at Cray,
and the next sheep that comes shall leave his fleece.
[Exeunt.]
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