selfe; and you
Will hardly meet a worse to interrupt you.
Fare you well, Ladie.--Do you see that Bull?

_Sis_. Yes, Sir.

_Cou_. That is a happie beast

_Sis_. Why happie, sir?

_Cou_. He writes no verses to his Mistresse, is
Not cosend nor forsworne to gett her favour,
Bestowes no rings nor empties his Exchequer
To appear still in new rich suites, but lives
Free o' the stock of Nature, yet loves none.
Like the great _Turke_ he walkes in his Seraglio,
And doth command which concubine best pleases;
When he has done he falls to graze or sleepe,
And makes as he had never knowne the Dun,
White, Red or Brindled Cowe.

_Sis_. You are unmanly.

_Cou_. Nay, I know you will raile now; I shall like it.
Call me a scurvy fellow, proud and saucie,
An ill bred, crooked Clowne; ile here this rather
Then live upon your pitty. And yet doe not;
For, if you raile, too, men that know you can
Dissemble, may beleeve you love me, and
Tis not my ayme.

_Sis_. You are a fine man!

_Cou_. I am in my best clothes?

_Sis_. I perceave
That tis truth now what the world saies of you,
And yet tis strange.

_Cou_. 'Twere strange it should be otherwise.

_Sis_. You give your tongue a licence, nor will I hope
Your malice should spare me abroad that have
So prodigally abus'd a Ladies fame
That deserv'd nobly from you; but you men
Care not whose name you blast with a loose character,
So you maintaine your pride of talke.

_Cou_. Howe's this?
It is confess'd I have talk'd in my tyme
And talk'd too much, but not too much of you;
For I but seldome thought of such a woman:
For any other--

_Sis_. Nay, sir, I am satisfied;
You can talke your pleasure.

_Cou_. Have I not done it, too?

_Sis_. Yes, by your own report, and with a lady
So much in vertue and in birth above you;
And therefore I expect not--

_Cou_. Stay; this moves me.
I never tooke a pleasure yet to lie
With Ladies fames, or ever thought that sport
Lay in the tongue. Such humours are for men
That live by brothell offices: let me know
Who hath traduc'd me to you thus, he shall
Be knowne no more.

_Sis_. Ile not be guiltie, sir,
Of any murder; when we meet agen,
And you in better humour, I may tell you.
So farewell, _Gondarino_,[271] nothing's lost
When you turne _Woman Hater_. [_Exit_.

_Cou_. She has vext me.
If we make Matrimony after this rate,
The Divell is like to dance at our wedding. Ho!

_Enter Device_.

_De_. Hee's here,
Alone too, and th