_Rog_. Now cannot I hold if I should be hang'd, I must crie too. Come to thine own beloved, and do even what thou wilt with me sweet, sweet _Abigal_. I am thine own for ever: here's my hand, when _Roger_ proves a recreant, hang him i'th' Bel-ropes.

_Enter_ Lady, _and_ Martha.

_Lady_. Why how now Master _Roger_, no prayers down with you to night? Did you hear the bell ring? You are courting: your flock shall fat well for it.

_Rog_. I humbly ask your pardon: I'le clap up Prayers, but stay a little, and be with you again. [_Exit_ Roger.

_Enter_ Elder Love.

_Lady_. How dare you, being so unworthie a fellow, Presume to come to move me any more?

_Elder Lo_. Ha, ha, ha.

_Lady_. What ails the fellow?

_Elder Lo_. The fellow comes to laugh at you, I tell you Ladie I would not for your Land, be such a c.o.xcomb, such a whining a.s.s, as you decreed me for when I was last here.

_Lady_. I joy to hear you are wise, 'tis a rare Jewel In an Elder Brother: pray be wiser yet.

_Elder Lo._ Me thinks I am very wise: I do not come a wooing. Indeed I'le move no more love to your Ladiship.

_Lady_. What makes you here then?

_Elder Lo_. Only to see you and be merry Ladie: that's all my business.

Faith let's be very merry. Where's little _Roger_? he's a good fellow: an hour or two well spent in wholesome mirth, is worth a thousand of these puling pa.s.sions. 'Tis an ill world for Lovers.

_Lady_. They were never fewer.

_Elder Lo_. I thank G.o.d there's one less for me Ladie.

_Lady_. You were never any Sir.

_Elder Lo_. Till now, and now I am the prettiest fellow.

_Lady_. You talk like a Tailor Sir.

_Elder Lo_. Me thinks your faces are no such fine things now.

_Lady_. Why did you tell me you were wise? Lord what a lying age is this, where will you mend these faces?

_Elder Lo_. A Hogs face soust is worth a hundred of 'em.

_Lady_. Sure you had a Sow to your Mother.

_Elder Lo_. She brought such fine white Pigs as you, fit for none but Parsons Ladie.

_Lady_. 'Tis well you will allow us our Clergie yet.

_Elder Lo_. That shall not save you. O that I were in love again with a wish.

_Lady_. By this light you are a scurvie fellow, pray be gone.

_Elder Lo_. You know I am a clean skin'd man.

_Lady_. Do I know it?

_Elder Lo_. Come, come, you would know it; that's as good: but not a snap, never long for't, not a snap dear Ladie.

_Lady_. Hark ye Sir, hark ye, get ye to the Suburbs, there's horse flesh for such hounds: will you goe Sir?

_Elder Lo_. Lord how I lov'd this woman, how I worshipt this prettie calf with the white face here: as I live, you were the prettiest fool to play withall, the wittiest little varlet, it would talk: Lord how it talk't!

and when I angred it, it would cry out, and scratch, and eat no meat, and it would say, goe hang.

_Lady_. It will say so still, if you anger it.

_Elder Lo_. And when I askt it, if it would be married, it sent me of an errand into _France_, and would abuse me, and be glad it did so.

_Lady_. Sir this is most unmanly, pray by gon.

_Elder Lo_. And swear (even when it twitter'd to be at me) I was unhansome.

_Lady_. Have you no manners in you?

_Elder Lo_. And say my back was melted, when G.o.d he knows, I kept it at a charge: Four _Flaunders_ Mares would have been easier to me, and a Fencer.

_Lady_. You think all this is true now?

_Elder Lo_. Faith whether it be or no, 'tis too good for you. But so much for our mirth: Now have at you in earnest.

_L[a]_. There is enough Sir, I desire no more.

_El. Lo_. Yes faith, wee'l have a cast at your best parts now. And then the Devil take the worst.

_Lady_. Pray Sir no more, I am not so much affected with your commendations, 'tis almost dinner, I know they stay for you at the Ordinary.

_Elder Lo_. E'ne a short Grace, and then I am gone; You are a woman, and the proudest that ever lov'd a Coach: the scornfullest, scurviest, and most senceless woman; the greediest to be prais'd, and never mov'd though it be gross and open; the most envious, that at the poor fame of anothers face, would eat your own, and more than is your own, the paint belonging to it: of such a self opinion, that you think none can deserve your glove: and for your malice, you are so excellent, you might have been your Tempters tutor: nay, never cry.

_Lady_. Your own heart knows you wrong me: I cry for ye?

_Elder Lo_. You shall before I leave you.

_Lady_. Is all this spoke in earnest?

_Elder Lo_. Yes and more as soon as I can get it out.

_Lady_. Well out with't.

_Elder Lo_. You are, let me see.