_Lady_. Is it not strange that every womans will should track out new wayes to disturb her self? if I should call my reason to account, it cannot answer why I keep my self from mine own wish, and stop the man I love from his; and every hour repent again, yet still go on: I know 'tis like a man, that wants his natural sleep, and growing dull would gladly give the remnant of his life for two hours rest; yet through his frowardness, will rather choose to watch another man, drowsie as he, than take his own repose. All this I know: yet a strange peevishness and anger, not to have the power to do things unexpected, carries me away to mine own ruine: I had rather die sometimes than not disgrace in public him whom people think I love, and do't with oaths, and am in earnest then: O what are we! Men, you must answer this, that dare obey such things as we command. How now? what newes?

_Enter_ Abigal.

_Abi_. Faith Madam none worth hearing.

_Lady_. Is he not come?

_Abi_. No truly.

_Lady_. Nor has he writ?

_Abigal_. Neither. I pray G.o.d you have not undone your self.

_Lady_. Why, but what saies he?

_Abi_. Faith he talks strangely.

_Lady_. How strangely?

_Abi_. First at your Letter he laught extremely.

_Lady_. What, in contempt?

_Abi._ He laught monstrous loud, as he would die, and when you wrote it I think you were in no such merry mood, to provoke him that way: and having done he cried Alas for her, and violently laught again.

_Lady._ Did he?

_Abi._ Yes, till I was angry.

_Lady._ Angry, why? why wert thou angry? he did doe but well, I did deserve it, he had been a fool, an unfit man for any one to love, had he not laught thus at me: you were angry, that show'd your folly; I shall love him more for that, than all that ere he did before: but said he nothing else?

_Abi._ Many uncertain things: he said though you had mockt him, because you were a woman, he could wish to do you so much favour as to see you: yet he said, he knew you rash, and was loth to offend you with the sight of one, whom now he was bound not to leave.

_Lady._ What one was that?

_Abi._ I know not, but truly I do fear there is a making up there: for I heard the servants, as I past by some, whisper such a thing: and as I came back through the hall, there were two or three Clarks writing great conveyances in hast, which they said were for their Mistris joynture.

_Lady._ 'Tis very like, and fit it should be so, for he does think, and reasonably think, that I should keep him with my idle tricks for ever ere he be married.

_Abi._ At last he said, it should go hard but he would see you for your satisfaction.

_Lady._ All we that are called Women, know as well as men, it were a far more n.o.ble thing to grace where we are grace't, and give respect there where we are respected: yet we practise a wilder course, and never bend our eyes on men with pleasure, till they find the way to give us a neglect: then we, too late, perceive the loss of what we might have had, and dote to death.

_Enter_ Martha.

_Mar._ Sister, yonder's your Servant, with a Gentlewoman with him.

_Lady._ Where?

_Mar._ Close at the door.

_Lady._ Alas I am undone, I fear he is be[t]roth'd, What kind of woman is she?

_Mar._ A most ill favoured one, with her Masque on: And how her face should mend the rest I know not.

_La._ But yet her mind was of a milder stuff than mine was.

_Enter_ Elder Loveless, _and_ Welford _in Womans apparel._

_Lady._ Now I see him, if my heart swell not again (away thou womans pride) so that I cannot speak a gentle word to him, let me not live.

_Elder Lo._ By your leave here.

_Lady._ How now, what new trick invites you hither?

Ha'you a fine device again?

_Elder Lo._ Faith this is the finest device I have now: How dost thou sweet heart?

_Wel._ Why very well, so long as I may please You my dear Lover. I nor can, nor will Be ill when you are well, well when you are ill.

_Elder Lo._ O thy sweet temper! what would I have given, that Lady had been like thee: seest thou her? that face (my love) join'd with thy humble mind, had made a wench indeed.

_Wel._ Alas my love, what G.o.d hath done, I dare not think to mend. I use no paint, nor any drugs of Art, my hands and face will shew it.

_La._ Why what thing have you brought to shew us there? do you take mony for it?

_Elder Lo._ A G.o.dlike thing, not to be bought for mony: 'tis my Mistris: in whom there is no pa.s.sion, nor no scorn: what I will is for law; pray you salute her.

_Lady._ Salute her? by this good light, I would not kiss her for half my wealth.

_Elder Lo._ Why? why pray you?

You shall see me do't afore you; look you.

_Lady._ Now fie upon thee, a beast would not have don't.

I would not kiss thee of a month to gain a Kingdom.

_Elder Lo._ Marry you shall not be troubled.

_Lady._ Why was there ever such a _Meg_ as this?

Sure thou art mad.

_Elder Lo._ I was mad once, when I lov'd pictures; for what are shape and colours else, but pictures? in that tawnie hide there lies an endless ma.s.s of vertues, when all your red and white ones want it.

_Lady._ And this is she you are to marry, is't not?

_Elder Lo._ Yes indeed is't.

_Lady._ G.o.d give you joy.