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"Fletcher's Works (1 of 10) - the Custom of the Country"


_Hip._ I love ye,
I honour ye, the first and best of all men,
And where that fair opinion leads, 'tis usual
These trifles that but serve to set off, follow.
I would not have you proud now, nor disdainful
Because I say I love ye, though I swear it,
Nor think it a stale favour I fling on ye,
Though ye be handsome, and the only man
I must confess I ever fixt mine eye on,
And bring along all promises that please us,
Yet I should hate ye then, despise ye, scorn ye,
And with as much contempt pursue your person,
As now I do with love. But you are wiser,
At least I think, more master of your fortune,
And so I drink your health.
_Arn._ Hold fast good honesty,
I am a lost man else.
_Hip._ Now you may kiss me,
'Tis the first kiss, I ever askt, I swear to ye.
_Arn._ That I dare do sweet Lady.
_Hip._ You do it well too;
You are a Master Sir, that makes you coy.
_Arn._ Would you would send your people off.
_Hip._ Well thought on.
Wait all without. [_Exit_ Zab. _and Servants._
_Zab._ I hope she is pleas'd throughly.
_Hip._ Why stand ye still? here's no man to detect ye,
My people are gone off: come, come, leave conjuring,
The Spirit you would raise, is here already,
Look boldly on me.


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