Lady. Farewell young man. [Exit Ladie.

Wel. You have made me one, Farewell:  and may the curse of a great house fall upon thee, I mean the Butler.  The devil and all his works are in these women, would all of my sex were of my mind, I would make ’em a new Lent, and a long one, that flesh might be in more reverence with them.

Enter Abigal to him.

Abig. I am sorry M. Welford.

Wel. So am I, that you are here.

Abig. How does my Ladie use you?

Wel. As I would use you, scurvilie.

Abig. I should have been more kind Sir.

Wel. I should have been undone then.  Pray leave me, and look to your sweet-meats; hark, your Ladie calls.

Abig. Sir, I shall borrow so much time without offence.

Wel. Y’are nothing but offence, for Gods love leave me.

Abig. ’Tis strange my Ladie should be such a tyrant?

Wel. To send you to me, ’Pray goe stitch, good doe, y’are more trouble to me than a Term.

Abig. I do not know how my good will, if I said love I lied not, should any way deserve this?

Wel. A thousand waies, a thousand waies; sweet creature let me depart in peace.

Abig. What Creature Sir?  I hope I am a woman.

Wel. A hundred I think by your noise.

Abig. Since you are angrie Sir, I am bold to tell you that I am a woman, and a rib.

Wel. Of a roasted horse.

Abig. Conster me that?

Wel. A Dog can doe it better; Farwell Countess, and commend me to your Ladie, tell her she’s proud, and scurvie, and so I commit you both to your tempter.

Abig. Sweet Mr. Welford.

Wel. Avoid old Satanus:  Go daub your ruines, your face looks fouler than a storm:  the Foot-man stayes for you in the Lobby Lady.

Abig. If you were a Gentleman, I should know it by your gentle conditions:  are these fit words to give a Gentlewoman?

Wel. As fit as they were made for ye:  Sirrah, my horses.  Farwell old Adage, keep your nose warm, the Rheum will make it horn else—­ [Exit Welford.

Abig. The blessings of a Prodigal young heir be thy companions Welford, marry come up my Gentleman, are your gums grown so tender they cannot bite?  A skittish Filly will be your fortune Welford, and fair enough for such a packsaddle.  And I doubt not (if my aim hold) to see her made to amble to your hand. [Exit Abigal.

Enter Young Loveless, and Comrades, Morecraft, Widow, Savil, and the rest.

Captain. Save thy brave shoulder, my young puissant Knight, and may thy back Sword bite them to the bone that love thee not, thou art an errant man, go on.  The circumcis’d shall fall by thee.  Let Land and labour fill the man that tills, thy sword must be thy plough, and Jove it speed. Mecha shall sweat, and Mahomet shall fall, and thy dear name fill up his monument.