If to this frendly fayer society,
I, a poore desolate virgin, so much bownd,
Should putt you off with delatory trifles
When you importune answer, t'would appeare
In mee strange incivility: I am yours
And, beeinge so, therefore consequently his.
_Ashb_. A match then! but, ere further you proceede,
Resolve mee one thinge, _Mildewe_,--not as thou art
Thyself, but as thou once weart made a Christian,--
Knowest thou this made's descent, and parentadge?
_Mild_. I will resolve you lyke a convertite,[158]
Not as the man I was: I knew there byrthes,
But for myne owne gayne kept them still conceal'd.
_Ashb_. Now as thou hop'st of grace--
_Mild_. The nurse late dead
That had these too in chardge, betrayde a shipboord
And ravisht from her coontry, ere she expyr'd
Nam'd her the doughter of _Jhon Ashburne_, marchant.
Her I _Palestra_ cal'd, shee _Mirable_;
That, _Winefryde_, doughter to _Thomas Ashburne_
Brother to the sayde _Jhon_, I cal'd _Scribonia_.
They too are coosin germans.
_Ashb_. This our neece?
_Thom_. My doughter?
_Pal_.
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