Where’s Trotter? Why, Trotter is here. I’faith, you and your daughter go up and down weeping and waymenting, and keeping of a waymentation, as who should say, The mill would go with your waymenting.

Why, yonder is a company of young men and maids keep such a stir for their grist, that they would have it before my stones be ready to grind it. But i’faith, I would I could break wind enough backward!

Answering You should not tarry for your grist, I warrant you.

Content thee, Trotter. I will go pacify them.

Iwis you will, when I cannot. Why look, you have a mill. Why, what’s your mill without me? Here he taketh Em about the neck. Or rather, mistress, what were I without you?

Nay, Trotter, if you fall a-chiding, I will give you over.

I chide you, dame, to amend you. You are too fine to be a miller’s daughter, for if you should but stoop to take up the tole-dish you will have the cramp in your finger at least ten weeks after.

Ah, well said, Trotter. Teach her to play the good huswife, and thou shalt have her to thy wife, if thou canst get her good will.

Ah, words wherein I see matrimony come loaden with kisses to salute me. Now let me alone to pick the mill, to fill the hopper, to take the toll, to mend the sails, yea, and to make the mill to go with the very force of my love.

Answering I come, I come! I’faith, now you shall have your grist, or else Trotter will trot and amble himself to death.

Trotter, where have you been?

Where have I been? Showing the kerchief Why, what signifies this?

A kerchief, doth it not?

Showing the urinal What call you this, I pray?

I say it is a urinal.

Then this is mystically to give you to understand I have been at the physmicary’s house.

How long hast thou been sick?

I’faith, even as long as I have not been half well, and that hath been a long time.

A loitering time, I rather imagine.

It may be so, but the physmicary tells me that you can help me.

Why, anything I can do for recovery of thy health be right well assured of.

Then give me your hand.

To what end?

That the ending of an old indenture is the beginning of a new bargain.

What bargain?

That you promised to do anything to recover my health.

On that condition I give thee my hand.

Ah, sweet Em.

How now, Trotter? Your master’s daughter?

But I meant no such matter!

Ah, sir, you come too late.

What remedy, Trotter?

Go, Trotter, my father calls.

Would you have me go in, and leave you two here?

Why, dar’st thou not trust me?

Yes, ’faith, even as long as I see you.

Go thy ways, I pray thee heartily.

Aside That same word heartily is of great force. Aloud I will go, but I pray, sir, beware you come not too near the wench.

Trust me, my lord, I am sorry for your hurt.

How grew the quarrel, my lord?

Sweet lady, for thy sake. There was this last night two masks, in one company myself the foremost, the other strangers were. Amongst the which, when the music began to sound the measures, each masker made choice of his lady, and one more forward than the rest stepped towards thee, which I perceiving, thrust him aside and took thee myself. But this was taken in so ill part that at my coming out of the court gate, with justling together, it was my chance to be thrust into the arm. The doer thereof, because he was the original cause of the disorder at that inconvenient time, was presently committed and is this morning sent for to answer the matter.— And I think here he comes.

What? Sir Robert of Windsor! How now?

I’faith, my lord, a prisoner. But what ails your arm?

Hurt the last night by mischance.

What, not in the masque at the court gate?

Yes, trust me, there.

Why then, my lord, I thank you for my night’s lodging.

And I you for my hurt, if it were so.— Keeper, away, I discharge you of your prisoner.

Lord Marquis, you offered me disgrace to shoulder me.

Sir, I knew you not, and therefore you must pardon me; and the rather it might be alleged to me of mere simplicity to see another dance with my mistress disguised, and I myself in presence. But seeing it was our haps to damnify each other unwillingly, let us be content with our harms and lay the fault where it was and so become friends.

I’faith, I am content with my night’s lodging, if you be content with your hurt.

Not content that I have it, but content to forget how I came by it.

Mariana, as I am grieved with thy presence, so am I not offended for thy absence, and were it not a breach to modesty, thou shouldst know before I left thee.

How near is this humour to madness. If you hold on as you begin, you are in a pretty way to scolding.

To scolding, huswife?

Madam, here comes one.

There doth indeed. Fellow, wouldst thou have anything with anybody here?

I have a letter to deliver to the Lady Mariana.

Give it me.

There must none but she have it.

Go to, foolish fellow.

And therefore, to ease the anger I sustain, I’ll be so bold to open it. What’s here? Reads Sir Robert greets you well? You, mistress, his love, his life? Oh, amorous man, how he entertains his new mistress! And bestows on Lübeck, his odd friend, a horn nightcap to keep in his wit.

Madam, though you have discourteously read my letter, yet I pray you give it me.

How far doth this differ from modesty! Yet will I gather up the pieces, which happily may show to me the intent thereof, though not the meaning.

Reading Your servant and love, Sir Robert of Windsor, alias William the Conqueror, wisheth long health and happiness. Is this William the Conqueror, shrouded under the name of Sir Robert of Windsor? Were he the monarch of the world, he should not dispossess Lübeck of his love. Therefore, I will to the court and there, if I can, close to be friends with Lady Blanche and thereby keep Lübeck, my love, for myself and further the Lady Blanche in her suit as much as I may.

Aside See how Fortune presents me with the hope I looked for. Aloud Fair Em!

Feigning blindness Who is that?

I am Valingford, thy love and friend.

I cry you mercy, sir, I thought so by your speech.

What aileth thy eyes?

O, blind, sir, blind, stricken blind by mishap on a sudden.

But is it possible you should be taken on such a sudden? Aside Infortunate Valingford, to be thus crossed in thy love! Aloud Fair Em, I am not a little sorry to see this thy hard hap. Yet, nevertheless, I am acquainted with a learned physician that will do anything for thee at my request. To him will I resort and enquire his judgment as concerning the recovery of so excellent a sense.

O lord, sir, and of all things I cannot abide physic; the very name thereof to me is odious.

No? Not the thing will do thee so much good? Sweet Em, hither I came to parley of love, hoping to have found in thee thy wonted prosperity. And have the gods so unmercifully thwarted my expectation by dealing so sinisterly with thee, sweet Em?

Good sir, no more: it fits not me to have respect to such vain fantasies as idle love presents my ears withall; more reason I should ghostly give myself to sacred prayers for this, my former sin, for which this plague is justly fallen upon me, than to hearken to the vanities of love.

Offering her a jewel Yet, sweet Em, accept this jewel at my hand, which I bestow on thee in token of my love.

A jewel, sir? What pleasure can I have in jewels, treasure, or any worldly thing that want my sight that should discern thereof? Ah, sir, I must leave you. The pain of mine eyes is so extreme I cannot long stay in a place. I take my leave.

Zounds, what a cross is this to my conceit! But, Valingford, search the depth of this device. Why, may not this be feigned subtlety, by Mountney’s invention, to the intent that I, seeing such occasion, should leave off my suit and not any more persist to solicit her of love? I’ll try the event: if I can by any means perceive the effect of this deceit to be procured by his means, friend Mountney, the one of us is like to repent our bargain.

Mariana, well met. You are very forward in your love!

Madam, be it in secret spoken to yourself: if you will but follow the complot I have invented, you will not think me so forward, as yourself shall prove fortunate.

As how?

Madam, as thus. It is not unknown to you that Sir Robert of Windsor, a man that you do not little esteem, hath long importuned me of love; but rather than I will be found false or unjust to the Marquis Lübeck, I will (as did the constant lady Penelope) undertake to effect some great task.

What of all this?

The next time that Sir Robert shall come in his wonted sort to solicit me with love, I will seem to agree and like of anything that the knight shall demand, so far forth as it be no impeachment to my chastity. And, to conclude, point some place for to meet the man for my conveyance from the Denmark court; which determined upon, he will appoint some certain time for our departure, whereof you having intelligence, you may soon set down a plot to wear the English crown. And then—

What then?

If Sir Robert prove a king, and you his queen, how then?

Were I assured of the one, as I am persuaded of the other, there were some possibility in it. But here comes the man.

Madam, begone, and you shall see I will work to your desire and my content.

I tell you, sir, it is no little grief to me you should so hardily conceit of my daughter, whose honest report, though I say it, was never blotted with any title of defamation.

Father Miller, the repair of those gentlemen to your house hath given me great occasion to mislike.

As for those gentlemen, I never saw in them any evil entreaty. But should they have proffered it, her chaste mind hath proof enough to prevent it.

Those gentlemen are as honest as ever I saw, for i’faith, one of them gave me sixpence to fetch a quart of sack. See, master, here they come.

Trotter, call Em; now they are here together, I’ll have this matter throughly debated.

Father, well met. We are come to confer with you.

Aside Nay, with his daughter, rather.

Thus it is, father, we are come to crave your friendship in a matter.

Gentlemen, as you are strangers to me, yet by the way of courtesy you shall demand any reasonable thing at my hands.

Aside What, is the matter so forward they came to crave his good will?

It is given us to understand that your daughter is suddenly become both blind and deaf.

Marry, God forbid! I have sent for her. Indeed, she hath kept her chamber this three days. It were no little grief to me if it should be so!

Aside This is God’s judgment for her treachery.

Gentlemen, I fear your words are too true: see where Trotter comes leading of her. What ails my Em, not blind, I hope?

Aside Mountney and Valingford both together? And Manville, to whom I have faithfully vowed my love? Now, Em, suddenly help thyself.

This is no dissembling, Valingford.

If it be, it is cunningly contrived of all sides.

Trotter, lend me thy hand. Aside to Trotter And, as thou lov’st me, keep my counsel and justify whatsoever I say, and I’ll largely requite thee.

Aside to Em Ah, that’s as much as to say you would tell a monstrous, terrible, horrible, outrageous lie, and I shall sooth it. Aloud No, by’rlady!

My present extremity wills me. Aside to Trotter If thou love me, Trotter—

Aside to Em That same word love makes me to do anything.

Trotter, where’s my father?

Why, what a blind dunce are you! Can you not see? He standeth right before you.

Is this my father? Good father, give me leave to sit where I may not be disturbed, sith God hath visited me both of my sight and hearing.

Tell me, sweet Em, how came this blindness? Thy eyes are lovely to look on, and yet have they lost the benefit of their sight. What a grief is this to thy poor father!

Good father, let me not stand as an open gazing-stock to every one, but in a place alone as fits a creature so miserable.

Trotter, lead her in, the utter overthrow of poor Goddard’s joy and only solace.

Go, my lord, I’ll follow you.

Well, now Mountney is gone, I’ll stay behind to solicit my love, for I imagine that I shall find this but a feigned invention thereby to have us leave off our suits.

Why do you not answer my lord?— He takes scorn to answer.

Indeed, sir, it would do very well if you could entreat your father to come hither; but if you think it be too far, I care not much to take horse and ride to Manchester. I am sure my daughter is content with either;— how say’st thou, Elinor, art thou not?

As you shall think best, I must be contented.

Well, Elinor, farewell. Only thus much I pray: make all things in a readiness, either to serve here or to carry thither with us.

As for that, sir, take you no care, and so I betake you to your journey.

But soft, what gentleman is this?

God speed, sir. Might a man crave a word or two with you?

God forbid else, sir. I pray you speak your pleasure.

The gentleman that parted from you, was he not of Manchester, his father living there of good account?

Yes, marry, is he, sir. Why do you ask? Belike you have had some acquaintance with him?

I have been acquainted in times past, but through his double-dealing I am grown weary of his company. For be it spoken to you, he hath been acquainted with a poor miller’s daughter, and diverse times hath promised her marriage. But what with his delays and flouts, he hath brought her into such a taking that I fear me it will cost her her life.

To be plain with you, sir, his father and I have been of old acquaintance, and a motion was made between my daughter and his son, which is now throughly agreed upon, save only the place appointed for the marriage, whether it shall be kept here or at Manchester; and for no other occasion he is now ridden.

What hath he done to you, that you should speak so ill of the man?

Oh, gentlewoman, I cry you mercy: he is your husband that shall be!

If I knew this to be true, he should not be my husband, were he never so good. And therefore, good father, I would desire you to take the pains to bear this gentleman company to Manchester to know whether this be true or no.

Now trust me, gentleman, he deals with me very hardily, knowing how well I meant to him. But I care not much to ride to Manchester to know whether his father’s will be he should deal with me so badly. Will it please you, sir, to go in? We will presently take horse and away.

If it please you to go in, I’ll follow you presently.

Now shall I be revenged on Manville, and by this means get Em to my wife. And, therefore, I will straight to her father’s and inform them both of all that is happened.

Alas, gentleman, why should you trouble yourself so much, considering the imperfections of my daughter, which is able to withdraw the love of any man from her, as already it hath done in her first choice. Master Manville hath forsaken her, and at Westchester shall be married to a man’s daughter of no little wealth. But if my daughter knew so much, it would go very near her heart, I fear me.

Father Miller, such is my entire affection to your daughter as no misfortune whatsoever can alter. My fellow, Mountney, thou see’st gave quickly over, but I, by reason of my good meaning, am not so soon to be changed, although I am borne off with scorns and denial.

Trust me, sir, I know not what to say. My daughter is not to be compelled by me. But here she comes herself; speak to her and spare not, for I never was troubled with love matters so much before.

Aside Good lord, shall I never be rid of this importunate man? Now must I dissemble blindness again. Once more for thy sake, Manville, thus I am enforced, because I shall complete my full-resolved mind to thee. Aloud Father, where are you?

Here, sweet Em. Answer this gentleman that would so fain enjoy thy love.

Where are you, sir? Will you never leave this idle and vain pursuit of love? Is not England stored enough to content you, but you must still trouble the poor contemptible maid of Manchester?

None can content me but the fair maid of Manchester.

I perceive love is vainly described, that being blind himself would have you likewise troubled with a blind wife, having the benefit of your eyes, but neither follow him so much in folly but love one in whom you may better delight.

Father Miller, thy daughter shall have honour by granting me her love. I am a gentleman of King William’s court, and no mean man in King William’s favour.

If you be a lord, sir, as you say, you offer both yourself and me great wrong: yours, as apparent in limiting your love to unorderly, for which you rashly endure reproachment; mine, as open and evident, when being shut from the vanities of this world, you would have me as an open gazing-stock to all the world. For lust, not love, leads you into this error; but from the one I will keep me as well as I can, and yield the other to none but my father, as I am bound by duty.

Why, fair Em, Manville hath forsaken thee, and must at Westchester be married, which, if I speak otherwise than true, let thy father speak what credibly he hath heard.

Aside But can it be Manville will deal so unkindly to reward my justice with such monstrous ungentleness? Have I dissembled for thy sake, and dost thou now thus requite it? Indeed, these many days I have not seen him, which hath made me marvel at his long absence. Aloud But, father, are you assured if the words he spake were concerning Manville?

In sooth, daughter, now it is forth I must needs confirm it. Master Manville hath forsaken thee, and at Westchester must be married to a man’s daughter of no little wealth. His own father procures it, and therefore I dare credit it and do thou believe it, for trust me, daughter, it is so.

Then, good father, pardon the injury that I have done to you, only causing your grief, by over-fond affecting a man so truthless.— And you likewise, sir, I pray hold me excused, as I hope this cause will allow sufficiently for me. My love to Manville, thinking he would requite it, hath made me double with my father and you, and many more besides, which I will no longer hide from you. That enticing speeches should not beguile me, I have made myself deaf to any but to him, and lest any man’s person should please me more than his, I have dissembled the want of my sight, both which shadows of my irrevocable affections I have not spared to confirm before him, my father, and all other amorous solicitors. Wherewith not made acquainted, I perceive my true intent hath wrought mine own sorrow, and seeking by love to be regarded am cut off with contempt and despised.

Tell me, sweet Em, hast thou but feigned all this while for his love, that hath so discourteously forsaken thee?

Credit me, father, I have told you the truth, wherewith I desire you and Lord Valingford not to be displeased. For ought else I shall say, let my present grief hold me excused. But, may I live to see that ungrateful man justly rewarded for his treachery, poor Em would think herself not a little happy. Favour my departing at this instant, for my troubled thought desires to meditate alone in silence.

Will not Em show one cheerful look on Valingford?

Alas, sir, blame her not. You see she hath good cause, being so handled by this gentleman. And so I’ll leave you, and go comfort my poor wench as well as I may.

Farewell, good father.

Goddard and all that he hath doth rest at the pleasure of your majesty.