SCENE II.

_Enter_ Rosalure, _and_ Lugier.

_Ros._ Ye have now redeem'd my good opinion, Tutor, And ye stand fair again.

_Lug._ I can but labour, And sweat in your affairs; I am sure _Belleur_ Will be here instantly, and use his anger, His wonted harshness.

_Ros._ I hope he will not beat me.

_Lug._ No sure, he has more manners; be you ready.

_Ros._ Yes, yes, I am, and am resolv'd to fit him, With patience to outdo all he can offer; But how does _Oriana_?

_Lug._ Worse, and worse still; There is a sad house for her: she is now, Poor Lady, utterly distracted.

_Ros._ Pity! Infinite pity! 'tis a handsome Lady, That _Mirabel_'s a Beast, worse than a Monster, If this affliction work not.

_Enter_ Lilia Biancha.

_Lil._ Are ye ready? _Belleur_ is coming on, here, hard behind me, I have no leisure to relate my Fortune. Only I wish you may come off as handsomely, Upon the sign you know what. [_Exit._

_Ros._ Well, well, leave me.

_Enter_ Belleur.

_Bel._ How now?

_Ros._ Ye are welcome, Sir.

_Bel._ 'Tis well ye have manners: That Court'sie again, and hold your Countenance stai'dly; That look's too light; take heed: so, sit ye down now, And to confirm me that your Gall is gone, Your bitterness dispers'd, for so I'll have it: Look on me stedfastly, and whatsoe'r I say unto ye, Move not, nor alter in your face, ye are gone then: For if you do express the least distaste, Or shew an angry wrinkle, mark me, woman, We are now alone, I will so conjure thee; The third part of my Execution Cannot be spoke.

_Ros._ I am at your dispose, Sir.

_Bel._ Now rise, and woo me a little, let me hear that faculty: But touch me not, nor do not lie I charge ye. Begin now.

_Ros._ If so mean and poor a Beauty May ever hope the Grace.

_Bel._ Ye cog, ye flatter, Like a lewd thing ye lie: may hope that grace? Why, what grace canst thou hope for? Answer not, For if thou dost, and liest again I'll swindge thee: Do not I know thee for a pestilent Woman? A proud at both ends? Be not angry, Nor stir not o' your life.

_Ros._ I am counsell'd, Sir.

_Bel._ Art thou not now (confess, for I'll have the truth out) As much unworthy of a man of merit, Or any of ye all? Nay, of meer man? Though he were crooked, cold, all wants upon him: Nay, of any dishonest thing that bears that figure: As Devils are of mercy?

_Ros._ We are unworthy.

_Bel._ Stick to that truth, and it may chance to save thee. And is it not our bounty that we take ye? That we are troubled, vex'd, or tortur'd with ye? Our meer and special bounty?

_Ros._ Yes.

_Bel._ Our pity, That for your wickedness we swindge ye soundly; Your stubbornness, and your stout hearts, we be-labour ye, Answer to that.

_Ros._ I do confess your pity.

_Bel._ And dost not thou deserve in thine own person? (Thou Impudent, thou Pert; do not change countenance.)

_Ros._ I dare not, Sir.

_Bel._ For if ye do.

_Ros._ I am setled.

_Bel._ Thou Wag-tail, Peacock, Puppy, look on me: I am a Gentleman.

_Ros._ It seems no less, Sir.

_Bel._ And darest thou in thy Surquedry?

_Ros._ I beseech ye; It was my weakness, Sir, I did not view ye, I took no notice of your noble parts, Nor call'd your person, nor your proper fashion.

_Bel._ This is some amends yet.

_Ros._ I shall mend, Sir, daily, And study to deserve.

_Bel._ Come a little nearer; Canst thou repent thy villainy?

_Ros._ Most seriously.

_Bel._ And be asham'd?

_Ros._ I am asham'd.

_Bel._ Cry.

_Ros._ It will be hard to do, Sir.

_Bel._ Cry instantly; Cry monstrously, that all the Town may hear thee; Cry seriously, as if thou hadst lost thy Monkey; And as I like thy tears.

_Enter_ Lilia, _and four Women laughing_.

_Ros._ Now.

_Bel._ How? how? do ye jear me? Have ye broke your bounds again, Dame?

_Ros._ Yes, and laugh at ye, And laugh most heartily.

_Bel._ What are these, Whirl-winds? Is Hell broke loose, and all the Furies flutter'd? Am I greas'd once again?

_Ros._ Yes indeed are ye; And once again ye shall be, if ye quarrel; Do you come to vent your fury on a Virgin? Is this your Manhood, Sir?

_1 Wom._ Let him do his best, Let's see the utmost of his indignation, I long to see him angry; Come, proceed, Sir. Hang him, he dares not stir, a man of Timber.

_2 Wom._ Come hither to fright maids with thy Bul-faces? To threaten Gentlewomen? Thou a man? A _May_-pole, A great dry Pudding.

[3] _Wom._ Come, come, do your worst, Sir; Be angry if thou darst.

_Bel._ The Lord deliver me!

_4 Wom._ Do but look scurvily upon this Lady, Or give us one foul word. We are all mistaken, This is some mighty Dairy-maid in Mans Cloaths.

_Lil._ I am of that mind too.

_Bel._ What will they do to me!

_Lil._ And hired to come and abuse us; a man has manners; A Gentleman, Civility, and Breeding: Some Tinkers Trull, with a Beard glew'd on.

_1 Wom._ Let's search him; And as we find him.

_Bel._ Let me but depart from ye, Sweet Christian-women.

_Lil._ Hear the Thing speak, Neighbours.

_Bel._ 'Tis but a small request; if e'r I trouble ye, If e'r I talk again of beating Women, Or beating any thing that can but turn to me; Of ever thinking of a handsome Lady But vertuously and well; of ever speaking But to her honour; This I'll promise ye, I will take Rhubarb, and purge Choler mainly, Abundantly I'll purge.

_Lil._ I'll send ye Broths, Sir.

_Bel._ I will be laugh'd at, and endure it patiently, I will do any thing.

_Ros._ I'll be your Bayl then; When ye come next to woo, 'pray come not boisterously, And furnish'd like a Bear-ward.

_Bel._ No in truth, forsooth.

_Ros._ I scented ye long since.

_Bel._ I was to blame sure, I will appear a Gentleman.

_Ros._ 'Tis the best for ye, For a true noble Gentleman's a brave thing; Upon that hope we quit ye. You fear seriously?

_Bel._ Yes truly do I; I confess I fear ye, And honour ye, and any thing.

_Ros._ Farewel then.

_Wom._ And when ye come to woo next bring more mercy.

[_Exeunt._

_Enter two Gentlemen._

_Bel._ A Dairy-maid! a Tinkers-Trull! Heaven bless me! Sure if I had provok'd 'em, they had quarter'd me. I am a most ridiculous Ass, now I perceive it: A Coward, and a Knave too.

_1 Gent._ 'Tis the mad Gentleman: Let's set our Faces right.

_Bel._ No, no, laugh at me; And laugh aloud.

_2 Gent._ We are better manner'd, Sir.

_Bel._ I do deserve it; call me Patch, and Puppy, And beat me if you please.

_1 Gent._ No indeed, we know ye.

_Bel._ 'Death, do as I would have ye.

_2 Gent._ You are an Ass then; A Coxcomb, and a Calf.

_Bel._ I am a great Calf; Kick me a little now: Why, when? Sufficient: Now laugh aloud, and scorn me; so good b'ye; And ever when ye meet me laugh.

_1 Gent._ We will, Sir. [_Exeunt._