not have a Cawdle? do's she
send you with your fine Oratory goody _Tully_ to tye me to believe again?
bring out the Cat-hounds, I'le make you take a tree Whore, then with my
tiller bring down your _Gibship_, and then have you cast, and hung up
i'th' Warren.

_Abig_. I am no beast Sir, would you knew it.

_Elder Lo_. Wou'd I did, for I am yet very doubtful; what will you say
now?

_Abig_. Nothing not I.

_Elder Lo_. Art thou a woman, and say nothing?

_Abig_. Unless you'l hear me with more moderation, I can speak wise
enough.

_Elder Lo_. And loud enough? will your Lady love me?

_Abig_. It seems so by her letter, and her lamentations; but you are such
another man.

_Elder Lo_. Not such another as I was, Mumps; nor will not be: I'le read
her fine Epistle: ha, ha, ha, is not thy Mistress mad?

_Abig_. For you she will be, 'tis a shame you should use a poor
Gentlewoman so untowardly; she loves the ground you tread on; and you
(hard heart) because she jested with you, mean to kill her; 'tis a fine
conquest as they say.

_Elder Lo_. Hast thou so much moisture in the Whitleather hide yet, that
thou canst cry? I wou'd have sworn thou hadst been touchwood five year
since; nay let it rain, thy face chops for a shower like a dry Dunghil.

_Abig_. I'le not indure this Ribauldry; farewel i'th' Devils name; if my
Lady die, I'le be sworn before a Jury, thou art the cause on't.

_Elder Lo_. Do Maukin do, deliver to your Lady from me this: I mean to see
her, if I have no other business: which before I'le want to come to her, I
mean to go seek birds nests: yet I may come too: but if I come, from this
door till I see her, will I think how to rail vildly at her; how to vex
her, and make her cry so much, that the Physician if she fall sick upon't,
shall find the cause to be want of Urine, and she remediless dye in her
Heresie: Farewell old Adage, I hope to see the Boys make Potguns on thee.

_Abig_. Th'art a vile man, God bless my issue from thee.

_Elder Lo_. Thou hast but one, and that's in thy left crupper, that makes
thee hobble so; you must be ground i'th' breach like a Top, you'I ne're
spin well else: Farewell Fytchock. [_Exeunt_.

_Enter_ Lady _alone_.

_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 hou