Sis.  This rudenes Is beyond the manners of a gentleman.

Cou.  I cannot helpe it, and I hope you thinke so.

Sis.  I am confirm’d that now I am forsaken, But if your passion have not drownd all reason I pray let us part civilly.

Cou.  With all my heart; I dare then take my leave, to[o].

Sis.  Whoe’s there?

Cou.  Where?

Sis.  Behind that tree?

Cou.  You have no plott to accuse me for a rape?  Twas at the worst but felony, for cherries That look’d as they had been a fortnight gather’d.

Sis.  I know youle bring me home in Curtesie.

Cou.  Not I, I wo’ not trust my selfe; and you Will hardly meet a worse to interrupt you.  Fare you well, Ladie.—­Do you see that Bull?

Sis.  Yes, Sir.

Cou.  That is a happie beast

Sis.  Why happie, sir?

Cou.  He writes no verses to his Mistresse, is
Not cosend nor forsworne to gett her favour,
Bestowes no rings nor empties his Exchequer
To appear still in new rich suites, but lives
Free o’ the stock of Nature, yet loves none. 
Like the great Turke he walkes in his Seraglio,
And doth command which concubine best pleases;
When he has done he falls to graze or sleepe,
And makes as he had never knowne the Dun,
White, Red or Brindled Cowe.

Sis.  You are unmanly.

Cou.  Nay, I know you will raile now; I shall like it. 
Call me a scurvy fellow, proud and saucie,
An ill bred, crooked Clowne; ile here this rather
Then live upon your pitty.  And yet doe not;
For, if you raile, too, men that know you can
Dissemble, may beleeve you love me, and
Tis not my ayme.

Sis.  You are a fine man!

Cou.  I am in my best clothes?

Sis.  I perceave That tis truth now what the world saies of you, And yet tis strange.

Cou.  ’Twere strange it should be otherwise.

Sis.  You give your tongue a licence, nor will I hope
Your malice should spare me abroad that have
So prodigally abus’d a Ladies fame
That deserv’d nobly from you; but you men
Care not whose name you blast with a loose character,
So you maintaine your pride of talke.

Cou.  Howe’s this? 
It is confess’d I have talk’d in my tyme
And talk’d too much, but not too much of you;
For I but seldome thought of such a woman: 
For any other—­

Sis.  Nay, sir, I am satisfied; You can talke your pleasure.

Cou.  Have I not done it, too?

Sis.  Yes, by your own report, and with a lady So much in vertue and in birth above you; And therefore I expect not—­

Cou.  Stay; this moves me. 
I never tooke a pleasure yet to lie
With Ladies fames, or ever thought that sport
Lay in the tongue.  Such humours are for men
That live by brothell offices:  let me know
Who hath traduc’d me to you thus, he shall
Be knowne no more.