SCAR.  Thy master, Sir John Harcop, writes to me,
That I should entertain thee for my man. 
His wish is acceptable; thou art welcome, fellow. 
O, but thy master’s daughter sends an article,
Which makes me think upon my present sin;
Here she remembers me to keep in mind
My promis’d faith to her, which I ha’ broke. 
Here she remembers me I am a man,
Black’d o’er with perjury, whose sinful breast
Is charactered like those curst of the blest.

ILF.  How now, my young bully, like a young wench, forty weeks after the loss of her maidenhead, crying out.

SCAR.  Trouble me not.  Give me pen, ink, and paper;
I will write to her.  O! but what shall I write
In mine excuse?[366] why, no excuse can serve
For him that swears, and from his oath doth swerve. 
Or shall I say my marriage was enforc’d? 
’Twas bad in them; not well in me to yield: 
Wretched they two, whose marriage was compell’d. 
I’ll only write that which my grief hath bred: 
Forgive me, Clare, for I am married: 
’Tis soon set down, but not so soon forgot
Or worn from hence—­
Deliver it unto her, there’s for thy pains. 
Would I as soon could cleanse these perjur’d stains!

CLOWN.  Well, I could alter mine eyes from filthy mud into fair water:  you have paid for my tears, and mine eyes shall prove bankrouts, and break out for you.  Let no man persuade me:  I will cry, and every town betwixt Shoreditch Church and York Bridge shall bear me witness.
          
                                                    [Exit.

SCAR.  Gentlemen, I’ll take my leave of you,
She that I am married to, but not my wife,
Will London leave, in Yorkshire lead our life. [Exit.

ILF.  We must not leave you so, my young gallant; we three are sick in state, and your wealth must help to make us whole again.  For this saying is as true as old—­ Strife nurs’d ’twixt man and wife makes such a flaw, How great soe’er their wealth, ’twill have a thaw.

[Exeunt.

Enter SIR JOHN HARCOP with his daughter CLARE,
and two younger brothers, THOMAS and JOHN SCARBOROW.

HAR.  Brothers to him ere long shall be my son
By wedding this young girl:  you are welcome both. 
Nay, kiss her, kiss her; though that she shall be
Your brother’s wife, to kiss the cheek is free.

THOM.  Kiss, ’sfoot, what else? thou art a good plump wench, I like you well; prythee, make haste and bring store of boys; but be sure they have good faces, that they may call me uncle.

JOHN.  Glad of so fair a sister, I salute you.

HAR.  Good, good, i’ faith, this kissing’s good, i’ faith,
I lov’d to smack it too when I was young,
But mum:  they have felt thy cheek, Clare, let them hear thy tongue.

CLARE.  Such welcome as befits my Scarborow’s brothers,
From me his trothplight wife be sure to have,
And though my tongue prove scant in any part,
The bounds be sure are full large[367] in my heart.