_Val._ Why there you are fools still, crafty to catch your selves,
pure politick fools, I lookt for such an answer; once more hear me, it
is, to wed a widow, to be doubted mainly, whether the state you have be
yours or no, or those old boots you ride in. Mark me, widows are long
extents in Law upon news, livings upon their bodies winding-sheets, they
that enjoy 'em, lie but with dead mens monuments, and beget only their
own ill Epitaphs: Is not this plain now?

_Bell._ Plain spoken.

_Val._ And plain truth; but if you'le needs do things of danger, do
but lose your selves, not any part concerns your understandings, for
then you are Meacocks, fools, and miserable march off amain, within an
inch of a Fircug, turn me o'th' toe like a Weather-cock, kill every day
a Sergeant for a twelve month, rob the Exchequer, and burn all the
Rolls, and these will make a shew.

_Hare._ And these are trifles.

_Val._ Considered to a Widow, empty nothings, for here you venture
but your persons, there the varnish of your persons, your discretions;
why 'tis a monstrous thing to marry at all, especially as now 'tis made;
me thinks a man, an understanding man, is more wise to me, and of a
nobler tie, than all these trinkets; what do we get by women, but our
senses, which is the rankest part about us, satisfied, and when that's
done, what are we? Crest-fallen Cowards. What benefit can children be,
but charges and disobedience? What's the love they render at one and
twenty years? I pray die Father: when they are young, they are like
bells rung backwards, nothing but noise and giddiness; and come to years
once, there drops a son by th' sword in his Mistresses quarrel, a great
joy to his parents: A Daughter ripe too, grows high and lusty in her
blood, must have a heating, runs away with a supple ham'd Servingman:
his twenty Nobles spent, takes to a trade, and learns to spin mens hair
off; there's another, and most are of this nature, will you marry?

_Fount._ For my part yes, for any doubt I feel yet.

_Val._ And this same widow?

_Fount._ If I may, and me thinks, however you are pleased to
dispute these dangers, such a warm match, and for you, Sir, were not
hurtfull.

_Val._ Not half so killing as for you, for me she cannot with all
the Art she has, make me more miserable, or much more fortunate, I have
no state left, a benefit that none of you can brag of, and there's the
Antidote against a Widow, nothing to lose, but that my soul inheri