Dem.  Ha? do mine eyes abuse me?  ’Tis she, the living Celia:  your hand Lady?

Cel.  What should this mean?

Dem.  The very self same Celia.

Cel.  How do ye Sir?

Dem.  Only turn’d brave.  I heard you were dead my dear one, compleat, She is wondrous brave, a wondrous gallant Courtier.

Cel.  How he surveyes me round? here has been foul play.

Dem.  How came she thus?

Cel.  It was a kind of death Sir, I suffered in your absence, mew’d up here, And kept conceal’d I know not how.

Dem.  ’Tis likely:  How came you hither Celia? wondrous gallant:  Did my Father send for ye?

Cel.  So they told me Sir, And on command too.

Dem.  I hope you were obedient?

Cel.  I was so ever.

Dem.  And ye were bravely us’d?

Cel.  I wanted nothing:  My maiden-head to a mote i’th’ Sun, he’s jealous:  I must now play the knave with him, though I dye for’t, ’Tis in my nature.

Dem.  Her very eyes are alter’d:  Jewels, and rich ones too, I never saw yet—­ And what were those came for ye?

Cel.  Monstrous jealous:  Have I liv’d at the rate of these scorn’d questions?  They seem’d of good sort, Gentlemen.

Dem.  Kind men?

Cel.  They were wondrous kind: 
I was much beholding to ’em;
There was one Menippus Sir.

Dem.  Ha?

Cel.  One Menippus, A notable merry Lord, and a good companion.

Dem.  And one Charinthus too?

Cel.  Yes, there was such a one.

Dem.  And Timon?

Cel.  ’Tis most true.

Dem.  And thou most treacherous:  My Fathers bawds by——­they never miss course; And were these daily with ye?

Cel.  Every hour Sir.

Dem.  And was there not a Lady, a fat Lady?

Cel.  O yes; a notable good wench.

Dem.  The Devil fetch her.

Cel.  ’Tis ev’n the merriest wench—­

Dem.  Did she keep with ye too?

Cel.  She was all in all; my bed-fellow, eat with me, Brought me acquainted.

Dem.  You are well know[n] here then?

Cel.  There is no living here a stranger I think.

Dem.  How came ye by this brave gown?

Cel.  This is a poor one:  Alas, I have twenty richer:  do you see these jewels?  Why, they are the poorest things, to those are sent me, And sent me hourly too.

Dem.  Is there no modestie?  No faith in this fair Sex?

Leo.  What will this prove too?  For yet with all my wits, I understand not.

Dem.  Come hither; thou art dead indeed, lost, tainted;
All that I left thee fair, and innocent,
Sweet as thy youth, and carrying comfort in’t;
All that I hoped for vertuous, is fled from thee,
Turn’d black, and bankrupt.