The Scornful Lady by Francis Beaumont and John Fletcher

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_Wel_. I, it does so Sir, and me especially to ask Sir, why you wear a
Night-cap.

_Rog_. Assuredly I will speak the truth unto you: you shall understand
Sir, that my head is broken, and by whom; even by that visible beast the
Butler.

_Wel_. The Butler? certainly he had all his drink about him when he did
it. Strike one of your grave Cassock? The offence Sir?

_Rog_. Reproving him at Tra-trip Sir, for swearing; you have the total
surely.

_Wel_. You told him when his rage was set a tilt, and so he crackt your
Canons. I hope he has not hurt your gentle reading: But shall we see these
Gentlewomen to night.

_Rog_. Have patience Sir until our fellow _Nicholas_ be deceast, that is,
asleep: for so the word is taken: to sleep to dye, to dye to sleep, a very
figure Sir.

_Wel_. Cannot you cast another for the Gentlewomen?

_Rog_. Not till the man be in his bed, his grave: his grave, his bed: the
very same again Sir. Our Comick Poet gives the reason sweetly; _Plenus
rimarum est_, he is full of loope-holes, and will discover to our
Patroness.

_Wel_. Your comment Sir has made me understand you.

_Enter_ Martha _the_ Ladies _Sister_, _and_ Younglove, _to them with a
Posset_.

_Rog_. Sir be addrest, the graces do salute you with the full bowl of
plenty. Is our old enemy entomb'd?

_Abig_. He's safe.

_Rog_. And does he snore out supinely with the Poet?

_Mar_. No, he out-snores the Poet.

_Wel_. Gentlewoman, this courtesie shall bind a stranger to you, ever your
servant.

_Mar_. Sir, my Sisters strictness makes not us forget you are a stranger
and a Gentleman.

_Abig_. In sooth Sir, were I chang'd into my Lady, a Gentleman so well
indued with parts, should not be lost.

_Wel_. I thank you Gentlewoman, and rest bound to you. See how this foul
familiar chewes the Cud: From thee, and three and fifty good Love deliver
me.

_Mar_. Will you sit down Sir, and take a spoon?

_Wel_. I take it kindly, Lady.

_Mar_. It is our best banquet Sir.

_Rog_. Shall we give thanks?

_Wel_. I have to the Gentlewomen already Sir.

_Mar_. Good Sir _Roger_, keep that breath to cool your part o'th' Posset,
you may chance have a scalding zeal else; and you will needs be doing,
pray tell your twenty to your self. Would you could like this Sir?

_Wel_. I would your Sister would like me as well Lady.

_Mar_. Sure Sir, she would not eat you: but banish that imagination; she's
only wedded to her self, lyes with her self, and loves her self; and for
another Husband than herself, he may knock at the gate, but ne're come in:
be wise Sir, she's a Woman, and a trouble, and has her many faults, the
least of which is, she cannot love you.

_Abig_. God pardon her, she'l do worse, would I were worthy his least
grief, Mistris _Martha_.

_Wel_. Now I must over-hear her.

_Mar_. Faith would thou hadst them all with all my heart; I do not think
they would make thee a day older.

_Abig_. Sir, will you put in deeper, 'tis the sweeter.

_Mar_. Well said old sayings.

_Wel_. She looks like one indeed. Gentlewoman you keep your word, your
sweet self has made the bottom sweeter.

_Abig_. Sir, I begin a frolick, dare you change Sir?

_Wel_. My self for you, so please you. That smile has turn'd my stomach:
this is right the old Embleme of the Moyle cropping of Thistles: Lord what
a hunting head she carries, sure she has been ridden with a Martingale.
Now love deliver me.

_Rog_. Do I dream, or do I wake? surely I know not: am I rub'd off? Is
this the way of all my morning Prayers? Oh _Roger_, thou art but grass,
and woman as a flower. Did I for this consume my quarters in Meditation,
Vowes, and wooed her in _Heroical Epistles_? Did I expound the Owl, and
undertook with labour and expence the recollection of those thousand
Pieces, consum'd in Cellars, and Tabacco-shops of that our honour'd
_Englishman Ni. Br._? Have I done this, and am I done thus too? I will end
with the wise man, and say; He that holds a Woman, has an Eel by the tail.

_Mar._ Sir 'tis so late, and our entertainment (meaning our Posset) by
this is grown so cold, that 'twere an unmannerly part longer to hold you
from your rest: let what the house has be at your command Sir.

_Wel._ Sweet rest be with you Lady; and to you what you desire too.

_Abig._ It should be some such good thing like your self then. [_Exeunt._

_Wel._ Heaven keep me from that curse, and all my issue. Good night
Antiquity.

_Rog._ _Solamen Miseris socios habuisse Doloris_: but I alone.

_Wel._ Learned Sir, will you bid my man come to me? and requesting a
greater measure of your learning, good night, good Master _Roger_.

_Rog._ Good Sir, peace be with you. [_Exit_ Roger.

_Wel._ Adue dear _Domine_. Half a dozen such in a Kingdom would make a man
forswear confession: for who that had but half his wits about him, would
commit the Counsel of a serious sin to such a cruel Night-cap? Why how now
shall we have an Antick? [_Enter Servant._
Whose head do you carry upon your shoulders, that you jole it so against
the Post? Is't for your ease? Or have you seen the Celler? Where are my
slippers Sir?

_Ser._ Here Sir.

_Wel._ Where Sir? have you got the pot Verdugo? have you seen the Horses
Sir?

_Ser._ Yes Sir.

_Wel._ Have they any meat?

_Ser._ Faith Sir, they have a kind of wholesome Rushes, Hay I cannot call
it.

_Wel._ And no Provender?

_Ser._ Sir, so I take it.

_Wel._ You are merry Sir, and why so?

_Ser._ Faith Sir, here are no Oats to be got, unless you'l have 'em in
Porredge: the people are so mainly given to spoon-meat: yonder's a cast of
Coach-mares of the Gentlewomans, the strangest Cattel.

_Wel._ Why?

_Ser._ Why, they are transparent Sir, you may see through them: and such a
house!

_Wel._ Come Sir, the truth of your discovery.

_Ser._ Sir, they are in tribes like Jewes: the Kitchin and the Dayrie make
one tribe, and have their faction and their fornication within themselves;
the Buttery and the Landry are another, and there's no love lost; the
chambers are intire, and what's done there, is somewhat higher than my
knowledge: but this I am sure, between these copulations, a stranger is
kept vertuous, that is, fasting. But of all this the drink Sir.

_Wel. _What of that Sir?

_Ser. _Faith Sir, I will handle it as the time and your patience will give
me leave. This drink, or this cooling Julip, of which three spoonfuls
kills the Calenture, a pint breeds the cold Palsie.

_Wel. _Sir, you bely the house.

_Ser. _I would I did Sir. But as I am a true man, if 'twere but one degree
colder, nothing but an Asses hoof would hold it.

_Wel. _I am glad on't Sir, for if it had proved stronger, you had been
tongue ti'd of these commendations. Light me the candle Sir, I'le hear no
more. [_Exeunt._

_Enter young_ Loveless _and his _Comrades, _with wenches, and two
Fidlers._

_Yo. Lo. _Come my brave man of war, trace out thy darling,
And you my learned Council, sit and turn boyes,
Kiss till the Cow come home, kiss close, kiss close knaves.
My Modern Poet, thou shalt kiss in couplets.

_Enter with_ Wine.

Strike up you merry varlets, and leave your peeping,
This is no pay for Fidlers.

_Capt._ O my dear boy, thy _Hercules,_ thy Captain
Makes thee his _Hylas,_ his delight, his solace.
Love thy brave man of war, and let thy bounty
Clap him in _Shamois_: Let there be deducted out of our main potation
Five Marks in hatchments to adorn this thigh,
Crampt with this rest of peace, and I will fight
Thy battels.

_Yo. Lo._ Thou shalt hav't boy, and fly in Feather,
Lead on a March you Michers.

_Enter_ Savill.

_Savill_. O my head, O my heart, what a noyse and change is here! would I
had been cold i'th' mouth before this day, and ne're have liv'd to see
this dissolution. He that lives within a mile of this place, had as good
sleep in the perpetual noyse of an Iron Mill. There's a dead Sea of drink
i'th' Seller, in which goodly vessels lye wrackt, and in the middle of
this deluge appear the tops of flagons and black jacks, like Churches
drown'd i'th' marshes.

_Yo. Lo._ What, art thou come? My sweet Sir _Amias_ welcome to _Troy_.
Come thou shalt kiss my _Helen_, and court her in a dance.

_Sav_. Good Sir consider?

_Yo. Lo_. Shall we consider Gentlemen? How say you?

_Capt_. Consider? that were a simple toy i'faith, consider? whose moral's
that? The man that cryes consider is our foe: let my steel know him.

_Young Lo_. Stay thy dead doing hand, he must not die yet: prethee be
calm my _Hector_.

_Capt_. Peasant slave, thou groom compos'd of grudgings, live and thank
this Gentleman, thou hadst seen _Pluto_ else. The next consider kills
thee.

_Trav_. Let him drink down his word again in a gallon of Sack.

_Poet_. 'Tis but a snuffe, make it two gallons, and let him doe it
kneeling in repentance.

_Savil_. Nay rather kill me, there's but a lay-man lost. Good Captain doe
your office.

_Young Lo_. Thou shalt drink Steward, drink and dance my Steward. Strike
him a horn-pipe squeakers, take thy striver, and pace her till she stew.

_Savil_. Sure Sir, I cannot dance with your Gentlewomen, they are too
light for me, pray break my head, and let me goe.

_Capt_. He shall dance, he shall dance.

_Young Lo_. He shall dance, and drink, and be drunk and dance, and be
drunk again, and shall see no meat in a year.

_Poet._ And three quarters?

_Young Lo._ And three quarters be it.

_Capt._ Who knocks there? let him in.

_Enter_ Elder Loveless _disguised._

_Savill._ Some to deliver me I hope.

_Elder Lo._ Gentlemen, God save you all, my business is to one Master
_Loveless_?

_Capt._ This is the Gentleman you mean; view him, and take his Inventorie,
he's a right one.

_Elder Lo._ He promises no less Sir.

_Young Lo._ Sir, your business?

_Elder Lo._ Sir, I should let you know, yet I am loth, yet I am sworn
to't, would some other tongue would speak it for me.

_Young Lo._ Out with it i' Gods name.

_Elder Lo._ All I desire Sir is, the patience and sufferance of a man, and
good Sir be not mov'd more.

_Young Lo._ Then a pottle of sack will doe, here's my hand, prethee thy
business?

_Elder Lo._ Good Sir excuse me, and whatsoever you hear, think must have
been known unto you, and be your self discreet, and bear it nobly.

_Young Lo._ Prethee dispatch me.

_Elder Lo._ Your Brother's dead Sir.

_Young Lo._ Thou dost not mean dead drunk?

_Elder Lo._ No, no, dead and drown'd at sea Sir.

_Young Lo._ Art sure he's dead?

_Elder Lo._ Too sure Sir.

_Young Lo._ I but art thou very certainly sure of it?

_Elder Lo._ As sure Sir, as I tell it.

_Young Lo._ But art thou sure he came not up again?

_Elder Lo._ He may come up, but ne're to call you Brother.

_Young Lo._ But art sure he had water enough to drown him?

_Elder Lo._ Sure Sir, he wanted none.

_Young Lo._ I would not have him want, I lov'd him better; here I forgive
thee: and i'faith be plain, how do I bear it?

_Elder Lo._ Very wisely Sir.

_Young Lo_. Fill him some wine. Thou dost not see me mov'd, these
transitorie toyes ne're trouble me, he's in a better place, my friend I
know't. Some fellows would have cryed now, and have curst thee, and faln
out with their meat, and kept a pudder; but all this helps not, he was too
good for us, and let God keep him: there's the right use on't friend. Off
with thy drink, thou hast a spice of sorrow makes thee dry: fill him
another. _Savill_, your Master's dead, and who am I now _Savill_? Nay,
let's all bear it well, wipe _Savill_ wipe, tears are but thrown away: we
shall have wenches now, shall we not _Savill_?

_Savill_. Yes Sir.

_Young Lo_. And drink innumerable.

_Savil_. Yes forsooth.

_Young Lo_. And you'll strain curtsie and be drunk a little?

_Savil_. I would be glad, Sir, to doe my weak endeavour.

_Yo. Lo_. You may be brought in time to love a wench too.

_Savil_. In time the sturdie Oak Sir.

_Young Lo_. Some more wine for my friend there.

_Elder Lo_. I shall be drunk anon for my good news: but I have a loving
Brother, that's my comfort.

_Youn[g] Lo_. Here's to you Sir, this is the worst I wish you for your
news: and if I had another elder Brother, and say it were his chance to
feed Haddocks, I should be still the same you see me now, a poor contented
Gentleman. More wine for my friend there, he's dry again.

_Elder Lo_. I shall be if I follow this beginning. Well my dear Brother,
if I scape this drowning, 'tis your turn next to sink, you shall duck
twice before I help you. Sir I cannot drink more; pray let me have your
pardon.

_Young Lo_. O Lord Sir, 'tis your modestie: more wine, give him a bigger
glass; hug him my Captain, thou shalt be my chief mourner.

_Capt_. And this my pennon: Sir, a full carouse to you, and to my Lord of
Land here.

_Elder Lo_. I feel a buzzing in my brains, pray God they bear this out,
and I'le ne're trouble them so far again. Here's to you Sir.

_Young Lo_. To my dear Steward, down o' your knees you infidel, you Pagan;
be drunk and penitent.

_Savil._ Forgive me Sir, and I'le be any thing.

_Young Lo._ Then be a Baud, I'le have thee a brave Baud.

_Elder Lo._ Sir, I must take my leave of you, my business is so urgent.

_Young Lo._ Let's have a bridling cast before you go. Fill's a new stoupe.

_Elder Lo._ I dare not Sir, by no means.

_Young Lo._ Have you any mind to a wench? I would fain gratifie you for
the pains you took Sir.

_Elder Lo._ As little as to the t'other.

_Young Lo._ If you find any stirring do but say so.

_Elder Lo._ Sir, you are too bounteous, when I feel that itching, you
shall asswage it Sir, before another: this only and Farewell Sir. Your
Brother when the storm was most extream, told all about him, he left a
will which lies close behind a Chimney in the matted Chamber: and so as
well Sir, as you have made me able, I take my leave.

_Young Lo._ Let us imbrace him all: if you grow drie before you end your
business, pray take a baite here, I have a fresh hogshead for you.

_Savil._ You shall neither will nor chuse Sir. My Master is a wonderfull
fine Gentleman, has a fine state, a very fine state Sir, I am his Steward
Sir, and his man.

_Elder Lo._ Would you were your own sir, as I left you. Well I must cast
about, or all sinks.

_Savil._ Farewell Gentleman, Gentleman, Gentleman.

_Elder Lo._ What would you with me sir?

_Savil._ Farewell Gentleman.

_Elder Lo._ O sleep Sir, sleep. [_Exit_ Elder Lo.

_Young Lo._ Well boyes, you see what's faln, let's in and drink, and give
thanks for it.

_Capt._ Let's give thanks for it.

_Young Lo._ Drunk as I live.

_Savil._ Drunk as I live boyes.

_Young Lo._ Why, now thou art able to discharge thine office, and cast up
a reckoning of some weight; I will be knighted, for my state will bear it,
'tis sixteen hundred boyes: off with your husks, I'le skin you all in
Sattin.

_Capt._ O sweet _Loveless_!

_Savil._ All in Sattin? O sweet _Loveless_!

_Young Lo_. March in my noble Compeeres: and this my Countess shall be led
by two: and so proceed we to the Will.
[_Exeunt._

_Enter_ Morecraft _the_ Usurer, _and_ Widow.

_Morec_. And Widow as I say be your own friend: your husband left you
wealthy, I and wise, continue so sweet duck, continue so. Take heed of
young smooth Varlets, younger Brothers: they are worms that will eat
through your bags: they are very Lightning, that with a flash or two will
melt your money, and never singe your purse-strings: they are Colts, wench
Colts, heady and dangerous, till we take 'em up, and make 'em fit for
Bonds: look upon me, I have had, and have yet matter of moment girle,
matter of moment; you may meet with a worse back, I'le not commend it.

_Wid_. Nor I neither Sir.

_Mor_. Yet thus far by your favour Widow, 'tis tuffe.

_Wid_. And therefore not for my dyet, for I love a tender one.

_Mor_. Sweet Widow leave your frumps, and be edified: you know my state, I
sell no Perspectives, Scarfs, Gloves, nor Hangers, nor put my trust in
Shoe-ties; and where your Husband in an age was rising by burnt figs,
dreg'd with meal and powdered sugar, saunders, and grains, wormeseed and
rotten Raisins, and such vile Tobacco, that made the footmen mangie; I in
a year have put up hundreds inclos'd, my Widow, those pleasant Meadows, by
a forfeit morgage: for which the poor Knight takes a lone chamber, owes
for his Ale, and dare not beat his Hostess: nay more--

_Wid_. Good Sir no more, what ere my Husband was, I know what I am, and if
you marry me, you must bear it bravely off Sir.

_Mor_. Not with the head, sweet Widow.

_Wid_. No sweet Sir, but with your shoulders: I must have you dub'd, for
under that I will not stoop a feather. My husband was a fellow lov'd to
toyle, fed ill, made gain his exercise, and so grew costive, which for
that I was his wife, I gave way to, and spun mine own smocks course, and
sir, so little: but let that pass, time, that wears all things out, wore
out this husband, who in penitence of such fruitless five years marriage,
left me great with his wealth, which if you'le be a worthie gossip to, be
knighted Sir. [_Enter_ Savil.

_Morec._ Now, Sir, from whom come you? whose man are you Sir?

_Savil_. Sir, I come from young Master _Loveless_.

_Mor_. Be silent Sir, I have no money, not a penny for you, he's sunk,
your Master's sunk, a perisht man Sir.

_Savil_. Indeed his Brother's sunk sir, God be with him, a perisht man
indeed, and drown'd at Sea.

_Morec_. How saidst thou, good my friend, his Brother drown'd?

_Savil_. Untimely sir, at Sea.

_Morec_. And thy young Master left sole Heir?

_Savil_. Yes Sir.

_Morec_. And he wants money?

_Sav_. Yes, and sent me to you, for he is now to be knighted.

_Mor_. Widow be wise, there's more Land coming, widow be very wise, and
give thanks for me widow.

_Widow_. Be you very wise, and be knighted, and then give thanks for me
Sir.

_Savil_. What sayes your worship to this mony?

_Mor_. I say he may have mony if he please.

_Savil_. A thousand Sir?

_Mor_. A thousand Sir, provided any wise Sir, his Land lye for the
payment, otherwise--

_Enter_ Young Loveless _and_ Comrades _to them._

_Savil_. He's here himself Sir, and can better tell you.

_Mor_. My notable dear friend, and worthy Master _Loveless_, and now right
worshipfull, all joy and welcom.

_Yo. Lo_. Thanks to my dear incloser Master _Morecraft_, prethee old Angel
gold, salute my family, I'le do as much for yours; this, and your own
desires, fair Gentlewoman.

_Wid_. And yours Sir, if you mean well; 'tis a hansome Gentleman.

_Young Lo_. Sirrah, my Brother's dead.

_More_. Dead?

_Yo. Lo_. Dead, and by this time soust for Ember Week.

_Morecraft_. Dead?

_Young Lo_. Drown'd, drown'd at sea man, by the next fresh Conger that
comes we shall hear more.

_Mor._ Now by my faith of my body it moves me much.

_Yo. Lo._ What, wilt thou be an Ass, and weep for the dead? why I thought
nothing but a general inundation would have mov'd thee, prethe be quiet,
he hath left his land behind him.

_Morecraft._ O has he so?

_Young Lo._ Yes faith, I thank him for't, I have all boy, hast any ready
mony?

_Morecraft._ Will you sell Sir?

_Young Lo._ No not out right good Gripe; marry, a morgage or such a slight
securitie.

_More._ I have no mony, Sir, for Morgage; if you will sell, and all or
none, I'le work a new Mine for you.

_Sav._ Good Sir look before you, he'l work you out of all else: if you
sell all your Land, you have sold your Country, and then you must to Sea,
to seek your Brother, and there lye pickled in a Powdering tub, and break
your teeth with Biskets and hard Beef, that must have watering Sir: and
where's your 300 pounds a year in drink then? If you'l tun up the
Straights you may, for you have no calling for drink there, but with a
Canon, nor no scoring but on your Ships sides, and then if you scape with
life, and take a Faggot boat and a bottle of _Usquebaugh_, come home poor
men, like a tipe of Thames-street stinking of Pitch and Poor-John. I
cannot tell Sir, I would be loth to see it.

_Capt._ Steward, you are an Ass, a meazel'd mungril, and were it not again
the peace of my soveraign friend here, I would break your fore-casting
Coxcomb, dog I would even with my staffe of Office there. Thy Pen and
Inkhorn Noble boy, the God of gold here has fed thee well, take mony for
thy durt: hark and believe, thou art cold of constitution, thy eat
unhealthful, sell and be wise; we are three that will adorn thee, and live
according to thine own heart child; mirth shall be only ours, and only
ours shall be the black eyed beauties of the time. Mony makes men Eternal.

_Poet._ Do what you will, 'tis the noblest course, then you may live
without the charge of people, only we four will make a Family, I and an
Age that will beget new _Annals_, in which I'le write thy life my son of
pleasure, equal with _Nero_ and _Caligula_.

_Young Lo._ What men were they Captain?

_Capt_. Two roaring Boys of _Rome_, that made all split.

_Young Lo_. Come Sir, what dare you give?

_Sav_. You will not sell Sir?

_Young Lo_. Who told you so Sir?

_Sav_. Good Sir have a care.

_Young Lo_. Peace, or I'le tack your Tongue up to your Roof. What money?
speak.

_More_. Six thousand pound Sir.

_Capt_. Take it, h'as overbidden by the Sun: bind him to his bargain
quickly.

_Young Lo_. Come strike me luck with earnest, and draw the writings.

_More_. There's a Gods peny for thee.

_Sav_. Sir for my old Masters sake let my Farm be excepted, if I become
his Tenant I am undone, my Children beggers, and my Wife God knows what:
consider me dear Sir.

_More_. I'le have all or none.

_Young Lo_. All in, all in: dispatch the writings. [_Exit with Com._

_Wid_. Go, thou art a pretty forehanded fellow, would thou wert wiser.

_Sav_. Now do I sensibly begin to feel my self a Rascal; would I could
teach a School, or beg, or lye well, I am utterly undone; now he that
taught thee to deceive and cousen, take thee to his mercy; so be it.

[_Exit_ Savil.

_More_. Come Widow come, never stand upon a Knight-hood, 'tis a meer paper
honour, and not proof enough for a Serjeant. Come, Come, I'le make thee--

_Wid_. To answer in short, 'tis this Sir. No Knight no Widow, if you make
me any thing, it must be a Lady, and so I take my leave.

_More_. Farewel sweet Widow, and think of it.

_Wid_. Sir, I do more than think of it, it makes me dream Sir. [_Ex._ Wid.

_More_. She's rich and sober, if this itch were from her: and say I be at
the charge to pay the Footmen, and the Trumpets, I and the Horsemen too,
and be a Knight, and she refuse me then; then am I hoist into the subsidy,
and so by consequence should prove a Coxcomb: I'le have a care of that.
Six thousand pound, and then the Land is mine, there's some refreshing
yet. [_Exit._

_Actus Tertius. Scena Prima_.

_Enter_ Abigal, _and drops her Glove._

_Abigal_. If he but follow me, as all my hopes tell me, he's man enough,
up goes my rest, and I know I shall draw him.

_Enter_ Welford.

_Wel_. This is the strangest pampered piece of flesh towards fifty, that
ever frailty copt withal, what a trim _lennoy_ here she has put upon me;
these women are a proud kind of Cattel, and love this whorson doing so
directly, that they will not stick to make their very skins Bawdes to
their flesh. Here's Dogskin and Storax sufficient to kill a Hawk: what to
do with it, besides nailing it up amongst _Irish_ heads of Teere, to shew
the mightiness of her Palm, I know not: there she is. I must enter into
Dialogue. Lady you have lost your Glove.

_Abig_. Not Sir, if you have found it.

_Wel_. It was my meaning Lady to restore it.

_Abig_. 'Twill be uncivil in me to take back a favour, Fortune hath so
well bestowed Sir, pray wear it for me.

_Wel_. I had rather wear a Bell. But hark you Mistres, what hidden vertue
is there in this Glove, that you would have me wear it? Is't good against
sore eyes, or will it charm the Toothach? Or these red tops; being steept
in white wine soluble, wil't kill the Itch? Or has it so conceal'd a
providence to keep my hand from Bonds? If it have none of these and prove
no more but a bare Glove of half a Crown a pair, 'twill be but half a
courtesie, I wear two alwayes, faith let's draw cuts, one will do me no
pleasure.

_Abig_. The tenderness of his years keeps him as yet in ignorance, he's a
well moulded fellow, and I wonder his bloud should stir no higher; but
'tis his want of company: I must grow nearer to him.

_Enter_ Elder Loveless _disguised._

_Elder Lo_. God save you both.

_Abig_. And pardon you Sir; this is somewhat rude, how came you hither?

_Elder Lo_. Why through the doors, they are open.

_Wel_. What are you? And what business have you here?

_Elder Lo_. More I believe than you have.

_Abig_. Who would this fellow speak with? Art thou sober?

_Elder Lo_. Yes, I come not here to sleep.

_Wel_. Prethee what art thou?

_Elder Lo_. As much (gay man) as thou art, I am a Gentleman.

_Wel_. Art thou no more?

_Elder Lo_. Yes more than thou dar'st be; a Souldier.

_Abig_. Thou dost not come to quarrel?

_Elder Lo_. No, not with women; I come to speak here with a Gentlewoman.

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