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

Anne.
Alas! how then?

Fent.
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.

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