Fent.
I see, I cannot get thy father's love;
Therefore no more turn me to him, sweet Nan.

Anne.
Alas! how then?

Fen.
Why, thou must be thy self.
He doth object, I am too great of birth;

And that my state being gall'd with my expence,
I seek to heal it only by his wealth.
Besides these, other bars he lays before me,
My riots past, my wild societies:
And tells me, 'tis a thing impossible
I should love thee, but as a property.

Anne.
May be, he tells you true.

Fent.
No, heav'n so speed me in my time to come!
Albeit, I will confess, thy father's wealth
Was the first motive that I woo'd thee, Anne:
Yet wooing thee, I found thee of more value
Than stamps in gold, or sums in sealed bags;
And 'tis the very riches of thy self
That now I aim at.

Anne.
Gentle Mr. Fenton,
Yet seek my father's love: still seek it, Sir;
If opportunity and humblest suit
Cannot attain it, why then—hark you hither. [Fenton and Mistress Anne go apart.

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