Teach us that?

You shall mount her—If pride will do't.

Nay, that upon my knowledge.

Examine but plaine Mantuan, and hee'l tell you, what woman is.

So he well may.

Speake and obtaine▪

Ill newes flies apace, and hath pluck't mee by the eares already, well, whosoever pronounc'd that sentence; I hope no body heares mee: I would his Portugall skinne were ta [...]n'd in­to Spanish Leather, and either cut into some flovenly Boote, to be dabled in the durt without a Galoach, or snip'd into a Saint Martines Ierkin, that never came within the sent of a perfumers shoppe.

In stead of confin'd had his doome beene to have been coffin'd, there had beene some comfort, he might have still kept his Country, but in plaine Portenguise and Spanish, both banisht

I am sure thou hearest the newes.

How can I chuse, being in the mouth of every Diego, which I no sooner heard, but I so sought that I might finde you, and so finde you neuer hereafter to lose you, for without you this is no place for mee, and without mee no Country can bee a Country for you. And so a Figge for Spaine, and a Prune for Pertugall.

Why how! mistris daughter, have you conquered the West Indies, that you weare a gold Mine on your backe, this wearing will make your fathers revenewes shrink.

Ile be so bold as stretch them on the tenters and they do

Y [...]are a good Iewell the whilst.

And Iewels must be set in gold father, Ile not lose the least dram of my lustre.

You will not, and to what end suits all this bravery pray?

To a good end if my Ayme bee steady. Heare you the Newes at Court.

Of Valladauraes fight at Sea; is this golden baite for him?

'Las poore Sea-calfe: 'tis not his love I angle for, I fish deeper streames and for a richer draught, have you not heard of Bonavida's fortunes?

To parallell the Queene in beauty and vertue? which he can never doe.

Which he may easily doe, her Prerogative of birth set apart what blemish doe you see in mee that I may not bee the woman?

Thou foolish girle: then compare a Glow-worme [Page] with a Starre, a Starre with the Sunne.

And the Sunne with a Burning glasse: Come, come, you're dim-sighted Father, could you see with my eyes, and judge with my understanding, your comparison would hold é contrario I assure you: thy hasty newes?

A Noble Gentleman—

Would speake with mee; (Bonavide in my Conscience) Is't not so fellow?

I am not familliar with his name: He is of a noble aspect.

It can be none but hee, give mee fresh ornaments, see your errour now father, Cupid and Venus, rich and new attires: Bonavide come? live in my cheeke sweet beauty: Eloquen [...]e at­tend my tongue, and perfection my behaviour: Came hee on horsebacke or Caroach't.

Neither of either. He is new come from Sea.

Certainely he having lost his labour in forraine search he meetes his hopes at home, the more my honour still: flye and admit him. Your Counsell father, shall I seeme strange of fami­liar, wanton or serious, affable or peevish, I am as full of humors as an April day of variety, how shall I beare my selfe?

Ene in the mid'st meane, daughter, or let me see and thou wilt be ruld by me, beare thy selfe—E'ne how thou wilt, provi­ded it be to thine owne profit, and my further honour: Noble Bonavide has Valladaur a Daughter? do you know this gallant?

Valladaura I hate, this gentleman acquainted with my beauty, reveald it to Bonavide: Sir you have bound mee to you, and comes to usher him to my presence.

Marry and wellcome, my further honour still.

We stay his comming, pray Sir so returne him.

Whose comming?

His, your Masters Bonavide's.

You speake Riddles to me.

Be your owne O Edipus and dissolve them then.

Come not you Nuntius from Bonavida Sir?

I am mine owne Nuntius and my Errand's love.

I heare no hurt, my further honour still.

My fortunes flie of to strong a wing, to stoope so low a pitch, is not Bonavida come yet?

As much as ere he will I thinke, Valladaura [...]s a prettie piece of flesh ceaze him: play not Esops cur, lose not the substance in expectation of the shadow: 'tis a dog trick many Ladies have practis'd: bosome him, doe.

What, this meane creature?

And he were meaner, so thou getst profit, and thy father honour by't▪

Are all my hopes repaid with scorne?

He begins to recoyle, clap him close to thy breast, hee's gone else.

Nay, Valladaura.

Come, be not passionate, though I know both my worth and beauty, and understand what Orbe they move into▪ I am not so much infected with that same Court-sicknesse Philantia, or selfe-love, to scorne the service of any generous Spirit.

How, neither for thy profit, nor thy fathers honour?

In sober conference then, what bounded service, have you ever done my beauty, that may challenge the least interest in my love?

They are tonguetide, and cannot speak for blushing, pret­ty ornaments for a souldier, how came you by them [...]? honestly

I should have said what you are forc't to acknowledge that my beauty had been the better man.

All this while you are beholding to my beauty, & I nothing in debt to your valour, which for ought I gather, is nothing at all

'Twas I confesse somewhat to takethese wounds, yet in my minde he that gives the cognizance has more reason to boast of it, than hee that weares it: shew mee the man that gave you these wounds and I'le commend his valour.

For giving of 'em? Knight there's small honour in ta­king of 'em though in my judgement, but what was he?

So I thought, for you weare a livery of his, cut to the skin and lin­d with Crimson: had you gin't him, I should have cane you for the Master. But pardon me, I foare too high for a serving­man, your eare, I am modest, away, hie to the subur [...]es, bribe some honest Barbarsurgeon to wash off your dishonor and hea [...]e your intamy.

Such as Travellers use, for by long practise I am now at length growne perfect, and the truth is I can lie in any language.

I thinke of it as I ever did, that's as of a bottle of hay, and the Creature you talke of, a Needle [...] Spanish Needle, which I feare you wil never live to hit ful in the eie: Spayne! there are so many Mores int, that I know you would hope of nothing lesse: besides the most beauties of Spaine have been oft in Civill.

What then of Portugall?

Worse then the tother: the Women there are for the most part like their Orindges, the fayrer the outside the rotten­ner within, and the founder at the heart, the rougher the skinne; the Country is too hot, too hot.

What of the Russian then?

As of a Country too cold, and in cold countries I know we should have but cold comfort, besides the women goe wrapt in so much fur, that of necessity they must have more ha [...]re then wit, besides they cannot be wise they have so much adoo to keep themselves warme, and more than that, what might the Prince [Page] and Princesse thinke, if after all our long travells, wee should come home, and present them with a rush?

Which only taking her great title of

The cleane contrary way, oh, my Lord, there are so many Italian Locks, that I know it was unpossible your owne key should open them all. Moreover these that are naturally jealous of their women, it is probable their women naturally give them cause.

For France.

What the pox should we speake of that, knowing what is bred in the bone, will hardly out of the flesh?

The women of high Germany?

A place that I should highly stand for, if the Princesse had impos'd on us a chalenge for drinking.

Of the Low-Countries then.

In Flushing, there is good riding, but not without dan­ger. For many at a high tide, have been like to have beene cast away in the road. At Middleborough, night or day you could scarce finde the Exchange empty. At Bristles, if you remember you were us'd but roughly: At Sluce we were both well wash't, Nimmingham bid you looke to your Sk [...]nce: and Ostend, be­ware the Cat. Don-hague is full of Witches, and had wee but tutcht at Rot or Dam, ten to one we had never come off sound men. Much adoo wee had to finde New-Port: Therefore if ever you come to Bergen, see you make it wisely.

I grant you the face, but if shee should prove rotten at the heart, there's the question.

Then I would shes and you were agreed, that you might come to a full poynt: and here shee comes, now or ne­ver make a full conclusion, and write Finis.

But say hee had power to performe all that hee hath promised.

Did you not heare her talke of utter, for shame Sir, either utte [...] your minde now to the full, or else utterly give it over.

Madam, What say you to my suit?

Now whilst they are in talke, will I hold some dis­course or other with the old Gentlewoman: because shee shall not interrupt them.

Nay, I thought what I should finde you, trust a stran­gers love as gold to court the winde. If then such numbers,

Now you flatter.

A Lord said st thou?

And hath hee chus'd her out amongst so many?

Yes, and meanes to make her a great Lady, to possesse her of all his fortunes, to put downe all the prime Ladies of Spaine: and for Beautie and Vertue, to bee preferr'd before the great Princesse her selfe.

Now, your answere.

If you distrust his word, cake mine, which will passe in Spaine for more Myravids, then the best Squiers in England for Farthing-tokens.

As trueth then I accept it, and am yours.

A good hearing, and I and the old Gentlewoman are both witnesses to the bargen.

And faith what think'st of Bonavidaes undertaking?

Bold Valladaura, well return'd from Sea: wee heare—

Of my disgrace, what a swift wing has Rumor?

You met a bold and noble opposite.

Have you heard that too?

But beautious Petrocella—

It deserves no lesse.

England.

Y'ar Nobly Spirited: Have you got your ransomes?

None but our lives.

Them thus wee tender.

The Land breeds few other: what's here, a Market of Slaves?

Manly proportions? Ha! Mont. Ferrers?

You doe not know me?

I must give you [...]ne lie, to say I doe.

I had nere been slave unto a Turke, a shore else.

Of England? your name Ferr [...]s?

You shall know me too, ere we part.

I shall?

Vnto some cost you shall, trust tot.

You know the Gentleman confer'd with you?

For a bold Foe, and a proud Spanyard.

You may have cause to say so: rh'as sent you Ransome.

Your reason?

Why are ye so loath to meete him then?

And be perswaded to finde usage answerable to your Contempt.

Why for my sake doe you neglect your freedome?

Here's both their Ransomes,

Oh yes, your English Iewes, they' le buy and sell their fa­thers, prostrate their wives, and make money of their own chil­dren, the male stewes can witnesse that: come on Sir, you must along.

How, must?

And shall, prating you English slave?

You know me now?

Divide'em so.

Right spanish Pride.

I dare the worst.

A thing much to bee fear'd.

Art sure 'tis so?

Most certaine Royall Princesse.

To his death: If he come empty handed.

Take your stands, let's have of her full view.

Wee have found her.

Hah, whom?

Of their chiefe Cities, the Metropolis, London.

I, and the fayrest there, one so fayre, that all Bartholmew-fayre could not match her againe.

Wee have no tongue for thee—

But wee have a Tale for you, if you will give us the hearing.

Yet wee have her, and weight and measure with her, to put downe all the black-browd wenches in Spaine, for a face, and Phisi [...]gnomie.

That prater, Peace there.

I hope, when travellers have light vpon a rich Purchase, It is lawfull for them to bragg of their commoditie.

Perhaps shee's fayre, what Instance can you give, that shee's of such prov [...]d vertue.

I can assure you Lady, there was a Ring, and a thing exchang'd vpon the bargen.

But where's this rare one? come produce her streight, To make her the courts wonder.

Pardon? villaine, and base Imposture, liu'd there such a creature, would not thy pride have brought her to full view?

Yo'have sentenc'd justly.

SIr from a bond-man, you have cast me into a free mould, almost new made mee, yet what your purpose is, I can­not gather, I am still yours; Is't your intention to pranke mee up, to make me fit for death, or feede mee till I be in some good plight, the better to fatt your owne revenge?

I am yours.

I heare say Bonavidaes return'd:

And intends to visit thee, for having fail'd in all his Forraine purposes: hee meanes, upon those thy pillars, as Hercu­les did upon his, to write Nonultra, think'st thou not so girle? my further honor still.

To see what a vertue lives in this Spanish continent, especially amongst yellow-hayr'd wenches; Iason, when hee went in quest of the Golden-Fleece, found it in Spaine, there's a Morrall in that, and that great Hercules, so talk'd on amongst the Greekes, after all his travells through Asia, Africke, and Eu­rope, comming to this Countrey, into the Iland call'd Calis; hee that, unlesse Poets lie, lay with Fifty Ladies in one night, and got Nine and forty Boyes, marry I must tell you, the last was a Girle; was there so tyred with one woman; that hee gave over all his travells, retyr'd home to his Countrey, like a man taken downe, and in memory of his adventure: where hee reated his pillar, writ that most methodicall Motto you speake of; No further.

Which I begg'd.

All this wee know, nor doe wee desire to heare over againe, what was before related; but had you spoke more in his prayse, then you have done, which it may be is your purpose; I find nothing, but may well come within the compasse of his merit, and my beliefe.

I thinke you would gladly sell whom you have so late­ly bought, else you would never have spoake him thus: If you have any such purpose; It may be, there be those that, but surren­der up your bargen, would be glad to helpe you to your money.

How long is't since those Gentlemen of Spaine arrived here?

Three dayes since, Lady.

Came there no letters along with 'em from Spaine? some note there?

Not to my hands.

Has Bonavid. that name me thinks revives me, I dare not taxe him of neglect, and yet I am very pleasant this morning, lets have a song R [...]sara: I would have the subject love, and yet modest to, and yet a little wanton, yet chast and innocent as dreams of coles, and hearst thou? where Bonavida's name vouch­safes to grace the ditty, there let musicke speak in its smoothest phrase, and most courtly singing, stay, thou art a jewell to pre­tious to [...]e wash'd with, thou wert given to deare purpose: ho­nour'd with this, lye there.

Thy absence Bonavid, makes each minute seeme an hower [Page] and thy delay, makes infant time look old, and were't not for this pledge of thy affection—Rosara, Maide.

Your pleasure madam?

Reach me my Ring.

What Ring, Lady?

Dost aske that question? that of the bason?

Trust me madam, I saw none.

Speak not againe upon thy life, where is the water?

Throwne out Madam, and with it I feare the Ring, but Ile—

Find it againe, or lose thy selfe, inconsiderate girle, how are my hopes betraid through thy rash negligence, was myblood pleasant for this? my thoughts, Ioyfull for this?—how now, hast found it?

Nor ever shall I feare Madam.

How, never? Then lose thy selfe, my hopes are lost for ever, torches and lights there, finde it againe, or never see me more.

Your will's a law, which I intend not suddenly to infringe, and have I got thee my best happinesse? now to my Don of Spaine, the next newes you heare of me, is a Ladiship at least; but fie on this idlenesse, I stand on thornes till I be in action.

You finde her pliant?

As a thing of wax, never was thri [...]ty trader more willing to put of a sullke commodity, than she was to truck for her may­denhead, I admire her forwardnesse.

Call of the animall, she takes her entrance just at her q [...]step you aside for feare of suspition.

Oh, master Oracle, sweete master Oracle!

How thrives your project? workes it into fashion?

Beyond hope or expectation, was there not a Don of Spaine heere, to speake with me?

Not I assure you? you have met him then?

Yes, and so met him, sweet M. Oracle, I am bound to you for ever.

This by my direction is the place▪ the labour in vaine, and here spite of delay, she has prevented myhast, you see I keep my word sw [...]te.

And that's somewhat strange, in a gallant of your [...].

But usuall in a lover, may wee presume upon the trust of this gentleman?

Why, doe not you know him? Oh strange! why 'tis M. Oracle man; trust him? and I had a Maiden-head to spare, I durst trust it naked in bed with him.

Sir, though both strangers, yet fates past, and fortunes to come, are better knowne to me, than your selves: have you got the Ring?

Have I? have I not? the handsomest way I had [...]or [...]t.

Sweet, I am come to make tender of my promise.

The like purpose bring we Sir.

You have my heart already.

For which take mine, and that Ring to boote: and M.

Welcome as health to the house of sicknes: and now, where how, what, when?

How is't Sir? I see a sudden signe of alte­ration in you.

And can you blame me, my blood chils, my nerves faint. I am abus'd, my attendant Daemon prompts me, I am abus'd.

Where?

Or by whom?

Here, and by thee, by both a false imposture and a common Strumpet.

Doe you mistrust my honesty?

Or my Art?

Both, they are both dissembled, and my noble purpose frustrate, this is not the Ring.

Not the Ring?

And you the woman my fate points at; how simple in­nocence may be plaid upon?

How, not the Ring? returne it backe then.

No, I will keepe it to witnesse and evidence against you, for instantly expect the severest punishment law can inflict upon Impostures of this kinde.

Disparagement to my Art, have you brought a fals Ring?

The right on my faith, as I hop'd to be a Lady, the right.

I am proud of that, this tryall was not amisse though.

But Oh master Oracle, how have you deceiv'd me?

I was deceiv'd my selfe, I see my errour now; onely a mistake in the signe, I sought for Mercury in one house, and hee logd'd in the next, I must change my lodging, the Citty stones [Page] will grow too hot for me, I must go coole my feet in the suburbs. The all and onely mistake was in the signe.

The Labour in vaine, a fire on the signe, and you too; my Donna turn'd to this? my preferment to this? a Lady in the Morning, and a beggar before noone? here's quicke work indeed; a cunning man? a cunning Rogue If ere it be my luck to see thee preach through a pill [...]ry, as one of the cast lims of your cursed crew did not long since, the hangman sh [...]l have you by the eares for this: but I'le backe and lay my case open to my Lady.

The Spanyard's noble, beyond thought or expectation noble, instead of a Dungeon, hee has furnish'd me with meanes, and sent me home with a letter of his purpos'd friendship to my friend. And now, though freed both from Turk and Spanyard. I live slave to a more cruell nation than both, my owne countrey­men▪ for suretyship and debt, (diseases that many a gallant lies sick to death on) have tane hold on mee, and though I know it improbable, and partly ridiculous, that a false beard, and a fanta­sticall habit, should mar my creation & make me a new creature, it has past currant with some in this place, and I may the bo [...]der venter on't. First then to my friends Sister, the young Lady Fer­rars, I thinke her vertuous, but withall know her for a woman, and dare not trust my liberty in so weake a stomacke: in this disguise then, I'le addresse me to her presently.

Thou tell'st me wonders, cheated of my Ring, by a cun­ning man, and a crafty Spanyard? the cosenage was premeditate: a Spanyard was he?

Some D [...] or Nobleman at least, he wore very good clothes.

So may a cheat, or a pickpurse; the better body, the pla­ner the habit, paint [...] clothes were devis'd for ruind [...]eeling, and [Page] fluttish walls, It's the Apparrell of the mind, crownes thee with­n Noble.

Then was hee a very beggar to cheat for so poore a tri­fle as a Ring.

'Twas not so much for the valew of the thing, As to improverish the oath of the wearer; some crafty sunner had a hand in't: or it might be Bonavidaes plott, to try my loyaltie: and yet it relishes too much basenesse to come from so noble an au­thour; how ever, shall I see this, turne coward, and like a falling Tower, bury my beauty in my owne Ruin [...]s? no, rather like the glorious Sun, desolue, and scatter these clowds of Infamy. It is re­solu'd, Ile after em to Spaine: Your purpose Rosara.

To give you my best attendance to th [...] last minute, please you Ladyship accept it.

And freely pardon thee; receive a few directions for our voyage.

Yes, this disguise will doo't; and for my friend, her no­ble brothers sake, Ile make the first tender of my service to her; save you Lady.

You'r welcome sir; would you any thing with us?

Impart a secret to you.

To a Woman? by no meanes, wee want discretion to keepe our owne.

Strange! Had I a secret concern'd my life, Ide trust it in a Womans bosome to chuse, and thinke I say'd it up safe too.

Your reason Sir?

Because no wise-man will over looke for any matter of Worth in such a weake building.

A fellow of a bold aspect, and such a one, were I assu­red of his carriage, as would much availe mee in my voyage; Art willing to serue?

Mine owne turne with all my heart: This fashions to my wishes; what if your Ladiship doe want a servant? I am your man, your first man too, and such a man as know the World.

And one Manhurst his friend, they are both prisoners, and lie—onely for ransome.

My brother Prisoner? This news wings mee for my voyage.

Are you for any adventures Lady?

Thy bad newes enforces mee; Ile make that my co­lour, at least that Gentleman is my brother; and cost it the last penny of my Dower, I will not see him want; Ile furnish our voyage Instantly.

As generous, as he is valliant, 'twere cowardize in mee to disharten her, wee must be gallant; what habit were I best to travell in, l [...]t me see, a Spannish slop, good easie weare, but that like Chambermaides, they are loose, and somewhat too open below.

Me-thinks your Dutch Cassocke is a comely weare.

It hath bin, but now adayes it growes shorter and shorter, like your Court allowance: their Taylors are good hus­bands, tho' they make little or no waste at all, and that makes your Gallants stand so much upon Points: your button-hose is a good weare for Courtiers.

Why for Courtiers?

Cause they are full of large promises outward, but lin'd with narrow and scant-performance wit [...].

'Tas beene a good fashion, but 'tis old.

So is all goodnesse else, wee have nothing new, but oathes and diseases.

No, for my money, give mee your substantiall, English hose, ro [...]nd and som-what full afore.

Now they are mee-thinks a little too great.

The more the discretion of the Landlord that builds them the makes roome enough for his Tennant to stand upright in, he may walk in and out at ease without stooping: but of all the rest, I am cleane out of love with your Irish trowfes; they are for all the world like a Iealous wife, alwayes close at a mans [Page] tayle: out of all these will I cut and fashion that shall [...] and Imitable: will you follow?

Yes, Graves.

I Never heard a fellow since my yeeres, taught mee how to distinguish I [...] from good, to talke in this strange Key; how English this? What are thou in thy Countrey?

As you would wish.

See, hee's come.

Wee have sent to proove your Mistris.

You sent for me.

I did, to tell thee a word of which no eare is worthy but thine owne, I love thee.

Possible, vexation should take new shapes to haunt me, you love me, come, this jeast might passe upon one of Cupids sa­shions, but I being a found Sophister in the art, am too familiar with our fallacies, to credit them or you.

Let not your tomming betray your folly, though it be common with Ladies, twould shew very [...]lin a Courtier. I con­fesse I seem'd strange to you, till I was acquainted with your worth.

How grew that acquaintance, 'twas without my knowledge?

Not to dissemble, some impulsive Nuntio's have wrought very strangely for you but examine not particulars: suffice, I say I love you and you dare not take my word, I can put you in no better security.

I des [...]te none, onely, but silence, you have vouehsasfd mee a happinesse, beyond merit or expectation.

Y'are the more beholding to me, and curtesie that comes from a woman freely, is worth twenty pleasures infor [...]t, neither would I have you taxe my love of immodesty: nor think I pur­pose to make you pay for the nursery of another mans pleasure, though it be common with some at Court; I have a kind of thing within me cal'd conscience, only I love you, and out of a com­passionate charity purpose to marry you.

H'as don't to purpose, I know not how to take you Lady.

Ene as you find me, that's with more faults than vertues [...] but see, my father and some of my best friends, to whom I have read the story of my love, come in person to dispatch the Nuptialls.

Then I presume y'are earnest, s [...]r I must call you father.

And never miscall me, if shee be thy wife as I thinke shee will be.

With your consent.

Get hers, it's not a straw matter for mine, and yet to make her no worse than she is, I must needs say shee will doe any thing she list her selfe in spite of my beard, my further Ho­nour still: but take her to thee, I thought so, as soone as ever I saw thee smacke, I knew 'twould prove a match and now tis out, my further honour still.

Out before 'tis throughly lighted? such matches were ner [...] kindled at Hymens altar, have you sufficient certificate of my love now?

As the great beast call'd Bull; Oh the crampe, the crampe!

I commend ye, my daughter a whore, make my house a stews, and her father a pander; is this all the honor she doth me?

Dishonor'd above sufferance.

Wine, and a strumpet, were there no hope of generati­on, but in her onely, this hand should be her hang-man: a whore on her wedding night, There's more modesty contem'd in a Goare, strumpet, whore, I will not call her daughter, Ile loose her, Will you leade the way?

Your pardon, I am so mildly temper'd, the expence Of one cheape teare, would buy her pardon; had her fault stroke at my life; If you intend revenge, Do't in my absence.

Th'art a chicken, leave us, tho'a fathers name, Ile beare a lyons heart, breake ope the doores, strumpet, why Impudence, [Page] breake op [...] the doore—

Whom doe you seeke?

A strumpet, thee, a—I can't devise a name bad e­nough for thee.

If hee were so loving to her, and honourable to you what businesse had hee in your Chamber?

That slave woo'd mee for you, so much the sweeter by that, The thought of my revenge.

But to what purpose did you send him to your wives bed?

Would you have mee turne Crocodile, and weepe, Fer­rers, Mont Ferrers, prithee come helpe me to laugh a little.

Ferrers! my friend alive?

By this blood of a Turtle, and that's a chaste oath, hee never did.

Hast fail'd thy promise, and abus'd my trust?

Doe but name the word, abuse by love, and Ile kill him indeed; what should hee doe? He came to bed, and for his eyes take, slept with mee, yet ne're so much as kist mee, but I con­fesse, I gave him twenty.

To quittance with him thus, I give him thy hand.

I aske no more, I have her heart already.

Have heart and faith, Noble Mont Ferrers.

My daughter chaste, my house honest, and noble Fer­rers my Son-in-law; this happens to my further honor indeede.

Noble of all sides, and so for joy of your friendly agree­ment, the Amorous sunne is come to give you a hunts-up.

Aurora lookes red at that, but with the new light, new businesse meetes us, Bonavidaes Execution.

Ten a clocke, is the last houre his life has to reckon.

Please you take patt of a short breakfast, wee will ac­company you.

Trust a Woman? trust thy morgage to an Vsurer, thy shoulder to the Mace, or thy bare backe to the Beadle, thou wilt bee whipt on all sides; a Woman?

Why are they cal'd faire, but that they are like a Faire where every one sets up shop, and any man may buy for his mo­ny? why lovely, but to denote unto us, they lie when they tell a man they love him? why chaste? unlesse from Coast to coun­trey, and from Constable to Constable: Why Virgin? but that they are meerely gins and snares to intangle poore men in: why, when a man courts them; doe they cry, away, away? but only to tell a man that there is a way, if he have the wit to finde it. Oh, Women, Women, foemineo gentri tribuuntur Propria quae Maribus.

From Women and I care not, for there's against them no standi [...]g.

Is there in them such danger?

Danger, I find but a little in that face, and tis a face able to out-face the best face in Spaine. A face that I have beene face to face with, before now, but 'tis so long since I cannot tell when and we have travelld so many Countries I cannot guesse where, Are you a stranger faire Lady?

Yes, and a traveller.

I love you the better for that, for indeed I my selfe have seene Countries, and I see no reason, but that if both parties were agreed we two might lie together by Authority.

Why I have travel'd too—

Alas, poore fellow, thou lookst not with the face, but if thou canst give mee but the true fashions and descriptions of Countries, or my friend, with mee you can purchase no Credit. Man. I shall and thus in briefe too.

God-a-mercy for this in faith, and were it not that the griefe, for my Noble Masters death, and that to mor­row too—

Why, hast thou a master to suffer?

Yes, and about a face too that would have serv'd the turne, if the heart had been correspondent. If you have a minde to see the pittifull spectacle, I'le helpe you to a place, where you shall have roome to see, leasure to lament, and time to shed teares.

Yes, especially for such a face. If you desire a strong one, to a prison. If you would lie cheape and save charges, 'tis but speaking treaion, and I'le helpe you to be billeted, at the Kings castle.

And have I found thee villaine? Think'st thou Maje­stie can be protection for a common thiefe?

'Tis most strange: