SCENE III.

_Enter_ Clora, _and_ Frank.

_Clor._ Ha, ha, ha, pray let me laugh extreamly.

_Fra._ Why? prethee why? hast thou such cause?

_Clor._ Yes faith, my Brother will be here straightway, and--

_Fra._ What?

_Clor._ The other party: ha, ha, ha.

_Fra._ What party? Wench thou art not drunk?

_Clor._ No faith.

_Fra._ Faith thou hast been among the bottles _Clora_.

_Clor._ Faith but I have not _Frank_: Prethee be handsom, The Captain comes along too, wench.

_Fra._ O is that it That tickles ye?

_Clor._ Yes, and shall tickle you too, You understand me?

_Fran._ By my troth thou art grown A strange lewd wench: I must e'ne leave thy company, Thou wilt spoil me else.

_Clor._ Nay, thou art spoil'd to my hand; Hadst thou been free, as a good wench ought to be, When I went first a birding for thy Love, And roundly said, that is the man must do it, I had done laughing many an hour agoe.

_Fra._ And what dost thou see in him, now thou knowst him To be thus laught at?

_Clor._ Prethee be not angry And I'le speak freely to thee.

_Fran._ Do, I will not.

_Clor._ Then as I hope to have a handsom husband, This fellow in mine eye, (and _Frank_ I am held To have a shrewd ghess at a pretty fellow) Appears a strange thing.

_Fra._ Why, how strange for _Gods_ sake? He is a man, and one that may content (For any thing I see) a right good woman: And sure I am not blind.

_Clor._ There lyes the question? For, (but you say he is a man, and I Will credit you,) I should as soon have thought him Another of _Gods_ creatures; out upon him, His body, that can promise nothing But laziness and long strides.

_Fra._ These are your eyes; Where were they _Clora_, when you fell in love With the old foot-man, for singing of Queen _Dido_? And swore he look'd in his old velvet trunks And his slic't _Spanish_ Jerkin, like _Don John_? You had a parlous judgment then, my _Clora_.

_Clora._ Who told you that?

_Fran._ I heard it.

_Clora._ Come, be friends, The Souldier is a _Mars_, no more, we are all Subject to slide away.

_Fra._ Nay, laugh on still.

_Clor._ No faith, thou art a good wench, and 'tis pity Thou shouldst not be well quarried at thy entring, Thou art so high flown for him: Look, who's there?

_Enter_ Fabricio, _and_ Jacomo.

_Jac._ Prethee go single, what should I do there? Thou knowst I hate these visitations, As I hate peace or perry.

_Fab._ Wilt thou never Make a right man?

_Jac._ You make a right fool of me To lead me up and down to visit women, And be abus'd and laugh'd at; let me sta[rv]e If I know what to say, unless I ask 'em What their shooes cost?

_Fab._ Fye upon thee, coward, Canst thou not sing?

_Jac._ Thou knowest I can sing nothing But _Plumpton_ park.

_Fab._ Thou't be bold enough, When thou art enter'd once.

_Jac._ I had rather enter A breach: if I miscarry, by this hand I will have you by th' ears for't.

_Fab._ Save ye Ladies.

_Clo._ Sweet Brother I dare swear, you're welcom hither, So is your Friend.

_Fab._ Come, blush not, but salute 'em.

_Fra._ Good Sir believe your Sister; you are most welcom, So is this worthy Gentleman whose vertues I shall be proud to be acquainted with.

_Jac._ She has found me out already, and has paid me; Shall we be going?

_Fab._ Peace; Your goodness Lady Will ever be afore us, for my self I will not thank you single, lest I leave My friend, this Gentleman, out of acquaintance.

_Jac._ More of me yet?

_Fra._ Would I were able, Sir, From either of your worths to merit thanks.

_Clor._ But Brother, is your friend thus sad still? methinks 'Tis an unseemly nature in a Souldier.

_Jac._ What hath she to do with me, or my behaviour?

_Fab._ He do's but shew so, prethee to him Sister.

_Jac._ If I do not break thy head, I am no Christian, If I get off once.

_Clor._ Sir, we must intreat you To think your self more welcom, and be merry, 'Tis pity a fair man of your proportion Should have a soul of sorrow.

_Jac._ Very well; Pray Gentlewoman what would you have me say?

_Clora._ Do not you know, Sir?

_Jac._ Not so well as you That talk continually.

_Fran._ You have hit her, Sir.

_Clora._ I thank him, so he has, Fair fall his sweet face for't.

_Jac._ Let my face Alone, I would wish you, lest I take occasion To bring a worse in question.

_Clora._ Meaning mine? Brother, where was your friend brought up? h'as sure Been a great lover in his youth of pottage, They lye so dull upon his understanding.

_Fab._ No more of that, thou'lt anger him at heart.

_Clo._ Then let him be more manly, for he looks Like a great School-boy that had been blown up Last night at dust-point.

_Fran._ You will never leave Till you be told how rude you are, fye _Clora_. Sir will it please you sit?

_Clora._ And I'le sit by you.

_Jac._ Woman be quiet, and be rul'd I would wish you.

_Clora._ I have done, Sir Captain.

_Fab._ Art thou not asham'd?

_Jac._ You are an asse, I'le tell you more anon, You had better have been hang'd than brought me hither.

_Fab._ You are grown a sullen fool; either be handsom, Or by this light I'le have wenches bait thee; Go to the Gentlewoman, and give her thanks, And hold your head up; what?

_Jac._ By this light I'le brain thee.

_Fra._ Now o' my faith this Gentleman do's nothing But it becomes him rarely; _Clora_, look How well this little anger, if it be one, Shews in his face.

_Clo._ Yes, it shews very sweetly.

_Fra._ Nay do not blush Sir, o' my troth it does, I would be ever angry to be thus. _Fabritio_, o' my conscience if I ever Do fall in love, as I will not forswear it Till I am something wiser, it must be, I will not say directly with that face, But certainly, such another as that is, And thus dispose my chance to hamper me.

_Fab._ Dost thou hear this, and stand still?

_Jac._ You will prate still; I would you were not women, I would take A new course with ye.

_Clora._ Why couragious?

_Jac._ For making me a stone to whet your tongues on.

_Clora._ Prethee sweet Captain.

_Jac._ Go, go spin, go hang.

_Clo._ Now could I kiss him.

_Jac._ If you long for kicking, You'r best come kiss me, do not though, I'de wish ye, I'le send my Foot-man to thee, he shall leap thee, And thou wantst horsing: I'le leave ye Ladies.

_Fra._ Beshrew my heart you are unmannerly To offer this unto a Gentleman Of his deserts, that comes so worthily To visit me, I cannot take it well.

_Jac._ I come to visit you, you foolish woman?

_Fra._ I thought you did Sir, and for that I thank you, I would be loth to lose those thanks; I know This is but some odd way you have, and faith It do's become you well to make us merry; I have heard often of your pleasant vein.

_Fab._ What wouldst thou ask more?

_Jac._ Pray thou scurvy fellow Thou hast not long to live; adieu dear Damsels, You filthy women farewel, and be sober, And keep your chambers.

_Clor._ Farewel old _Don Diego_.

_Fra._ Away, away, you must not [be so] angry, To part thus roughly from us; yet to me This do's not shew, as if it were yours, the wars May breed men something plain I know, But not thus rude; give me your hand good Sir I know 'tis white, and--

_Jac._ If I were not patient, What would become of you two prating houswives?

_Clo._ For any thing I know, we would in to supper, And there begin a health of lusty Claret To keep care from our hearts, and it should be--

_Fab._ Faith to whom? Mark but this _Jacomo_.

_Clo._ Even to the handsomest fellow now alive.

_Fab._ Do you know such a one?

_Fra._ He may be ghest at, Without much travel.

_Fab._ There's another item.

_Clor._ And he should be a Souldier.

_Fra._ 'Twould be better.

_Clor._ And yet not you sweet Captain.

_Fra._ Why not he?

_Jac._ Well; I shall live to see your husbands beat you, And hiss 'em on like ban-dogs.

_Clora._ Ha, ha, ha.

_Jac._ Green sicknesses and serving-men light on ye With greasy Codpieces, and woollen stockings, The Devil (if he dare deal with two women) Be of your counsels: farewel Plaisterers-- [_Exit_ Jac.

_Clora._ This fellow will be mad at Mid-summer Without all doubt.

_Fab._ I think so too.

_Fra._ I am sorry, He's gone in such a rage; but sure this holds him Not every day.

_Fab._ 'Faith every other day If he come near a woman.

_Clor._ I wonder how his mother could endure To have him in her Belly, he's so boysterous.

_Fra._ He's to be made more tractable I doubt not.

_Clo._ Yes, if they taw him as they do whit-leather Upon an iron, or beat him soft like Stock-fish.