Lady.  D’ee thinke it fitt
To punish his suspition yet perswade
To act the sinne he feares?

Sir Fr.  Custome and nature make it less offence
In women to comitt the deed of pleasure
Then men to doubt their chastity; this flowing
From poison’d natures, that excus’d by fraielty. 
Yet I have heard the way to cure the scare
Has bin the deed; at truth the scruples vanish. 
I speake not, Madam, with a thought to suffer
A foule breath whisper your white name; for he
That dares traduce it must beleeve me dead,
Or my fame twisted with your honour must not
Have pitty on the Accusers blood.

Device.  I will attend you in the Countrey;
I take my leave and kiss your ivory hand;
Madam, and yours.  Sir Francis, your obliged.
          
                                [Exit.

Sir Fr.  You bless me with this promise. 
—­How can you, lady, suffer this impertinent
Afflict you thus?
                                       [Ex.  Lad.

Sis.  Alas, my parrat’s dead and he supplies the prattle:  ith’ spring and fall he will save me charge of phisick in purgeing Melancholy.

Sir Fr.  If you dare
Accept a servant, Ladie, upon my
Comends, I should present a kinsman t’ee
Who sha’not want a fortune nor, I hope,
A meritt to possesse your faire opinion.

Sis.  You doe not say he is hansome all this while, and that’s a maine consideration.  I wod not have a man so tall as a Mast, that I must clyme the shroudes to kisse him, nor so much a dwarfe that I must use a multiplying glass to know the proportion of his limbes.  A great man is a great house with too much garret and his head full of nothing but lumber:  if he be too round agen hees only fitt to be hung upp in a Christall glasse.  The truth is the man I love must please me at first sight; if he take my eye I may take more tyme to examine his talent.

Sir Fr.  Do you but grace him with accesse and aske your owne fancie, Ladie, how you can affect him.  Ile not despaire if he were cur’d of modesty, which is the whole fault in his behaviour; but he may passe without contempt.

Do.  That modestie is a foule fault.

    Enter Captaine Underwitt.

Un.  Come away, Cosen; Sir Richard’s come and calls for you; the Coachman is ready to mount.  Noble Sir Richard, because you may not loose breath, you may call me a Captaine, please you, a Captaine o’ the train’d band.

Sis.  ’Tis very certaine.

Sir Fr.  I congratulate your title, Sir.

Un.  If you come into the Countrey you shall see me doe as much with my leading staff as another.

Sir Fr.  You wonot thrash your men?

Un.  If I did ’tis not the first time I ha thrash’d.  If I find my Souldiers tractable they shall find me but a reasonable Captaine.