Elder Lo.  Neither do I think there can be such a fellow found i’th’ world, to be in love with such a froward woman, if there be such, they’re mad, Jove comfort ’em.  Now you have all, and I as new a man, as light, and spirited, that I feel my self clean through another creature.  O ’tis brave to be ones own man, I can see you now as I would see a Picture, sit all day by you and never kiss your hand:  hear you sing, and never fall backward:  but with as set a temper, as I would hear a Fidler, rise and thank you.  I can now keep my mony in my purse, that still was gadding out for Scarfes and Wastcoats:  and keep my hand from Mercers sheep-skins finely.  I can eat mutton now, and feast my self with my two shillings, and can see a play for eighteen pence again:  I can my Ladie.

Lady.  The carriage of this fellow vexes me.  Sir, pray let me speak a little private with you, I must not suffer this.

Elder Lo.  Ha, ha, ha, what would you with me?  You will not ravish me?  Now, your set speech?

Lady.  Thou perjur’d man.

Elder Lo.  Ha, ha, ha, this is a fine exordium.  And why I pray you perjur’d?

Lady.  Did you not swear a thousand thousand times you lov’d me best of all things?

Elder Lo.  I do confess it:  make your best of that.

Lady.  Why do you say you do not then?

Elder Lo.  Nay I’le swear it, And give sufficient reason, your own usage.

Lady.  Do you not love me then?

Elder Lo.  No faith.

Lady.  Did you ever think I lov’d you dearly?

Elder Lo.  Yes, but I see but rotten fruits on’t.

Lady.  Do not denie your hand for I must kiss it, and take my last farewell, now let me die so you be happy.

El.  Lo.  I am too foolish:  Ladie speak dear Ladie.

Lady.  No let me die. She swounds.

Mar.  Oh my Sister!

Abi.  O my Ladie help, help.

Mar.  Run for some Rosalis!

Elder Lo.  I have plaid the fine ass:  bend her bodie, Lady, best, dearest, worthiest Lady, hear your Servant, I am not as I shew’d:  O wretched fool, to fling away the Jewel of thy life thus.  Give her more air, see she begins to stir, sweet Mistress hear me!

Lady.  Is my Servant well?

Elder Lo.  In being yours I am so.

Lady.  Then I care not.

Elder Lo.  How do ye, reach a chair there; I confess my fault not pardonable, in pursuing thus upon such tenderness my wilfull error; but had I known it would have wrought thus with ye, thus strangely, not the world had won me to it, and let not (my best Ladie) any word spoke to my end disturb your quiet peace:  for sooner shall you know a general ruine, than my faith broken.  Do not doubt this Mistris, for by my life I cannot live without you.  Come, come, you shall not grieve, rather be angrie, and heap infliction upon me:  I will suffer.  O I could curse my self, pray smile upon me.  Upon my faith it was but a trick to trie you, knowing you lov’d me dearlie, and yet strangely that you would never shew it, though my means was all humilitie.