ew upstart; one that swears like a falconer, and will lie in
the duke's ear day by day, like a maker of almanacs: and yet I knew
him, since he came to th' court, smell worse of sweat than an under
tennis-court keeper.

Hort. Look you, yonder 's your sweet mistress.

Flam. Thou art my sworn brother: I 'll tell thee, I do love that Moor,
that witch, very constrainedly. She knows some of my villainy. I do
love her just as a man holds a wolf by the ears; but for fear of her
turning upon me, and pulling out my throat, I would let her go to the
devil.

Hort. I hear she claims marriage of thee.

Flam. 'Faith, I made to her some such dark promise; and, in seeking to
fly from 't, I run on, like a frighted dog with a bottle at 's tail,
that fain would bite it off, and yet dares not look behind him. Now,
my precious gipsy.

Zan. Ay, your love to me rather cools than heats.

Flam. Marry, I am the sounder lover; we have many wenches about the
town heat too fast.

Hort. What do you think of these perfumed gallants, then?

Flam. Their satin cannot save them: I am confident
They have a certain spice of the disease;
For they that sleep with dogs shall rise with fleas.

Zan. Believe it, a little painting and gay clothes make you loathe me.

Flam. How, love a lady for painting or gay apparel? I 'll unkennel one
example more for thee. AEsop had a foolish dog that let go the flesh to
catch the shadow; I would have courtiers be better diners.

Zan. You remember your oaths?

Flam. Lovers' oaths are like mariners' prayers, uttered in extremity;
but when the tempest is o'er, and that the vessel leaves tumbling, they
fall from protesting to drinking. And yet, amongst gentlemen,
protesting and drinking go together, and agree as well as shoemakers
and Westphalia bacon: they are both drawers on; for drink draws on
protestation, and protestation draws on more drink. Is not this
discourse better now than the morality of your sunburnt gentleman?

Enter Cornelia

Corn. Is this your perch, you haggard? fly to th' stews.
[Strikes Zanche.

Flam. You should be clapped by th' heels now: strike i' th' court!
[Exit Cornelia.

Zan. She 's good for nothing, but to make her maids
Catch cold a-nights: they dare not use a