Prose is too harsh, and Verse is Poetry. Why shood I write; then? merrit[33] clad in inke Is but a mourner, and as good as naked. I will not write, my friend shall speake for me. Sing one stave more, my good _Horatio_. _Canto_. I must remember I know whom I love A dame of learning, and of life exempt From all the idle fancies of her Sex, And this, that to an other dame wood seeme Perplext and foulded in a rudelesse[34] vaile, Will be more cleere then ballads to her eye. Ile write, if but to satisfie my friend. Your third staunce sweet _Horatio_, and no more. _Canto_. How vainele doe I offer my strange love? I marry, and bid states, and entertaine Ladies with tales, and jests, and Lords with newes, And keepe a House to feast _Acteons_ hounds That eate their Master, and let idle guests Draw me from serious search of things divine? To bid them sit, and welcome, and take care To sooth their pallats with choyce kitchin-stuff, As all must doe that marry, and keepe House, And then looke on the left side of my yoake Or on the right perhaps, and see my wife Drawe in a quite repugnant course from me, Busied to starch her French purles, and her puffs, When I am in my _Anima reflexa. Quid est faelicitas? quae origo rerum_? And make these beings that are knowne to be The onely serious object of true men Seeme shadowes, with substantiall stir she keeps About her shadowes, which if husbands love They must beleeve; and thus my other selfe Brings me another body to dispose, That have already much too much of one, And must not looke for any Soule of her To helpe to rule two bodies? _Mom_. Fie for shame; I never heard of such an antedame[35]. Doe women bring no helpe of soule to men? Why, friend, they eyther are mens soules themselves, Or the most witty Imitatrixes of them; Or prettiest sweet apes of humaine Soules, That ever Nature fram'd; as I will prove. For first they be _Substantiae lucidae_, And purer then mens bodies, like their soules, Which mens harsh haires both of their brest and chinne Occasioned by their grose and ruder heate Plainely demonstrats: Then like soules they doe, _Movere corpora_, for no power on Earth Moves a mans body, as a woman does. Then doe they _Dare formas corpori_, Or adde faire formes to men, as their soules doe: For but for women, who wood care for formes? I vow I never wood wash face, nor hands, Nor care how ragg'd, or slovenly I went, Wer't not for women, who of all mens pompes Are the true final causes: Then they make Men in their Seedes immortall, like their soules, That els wood perish in a spanne of time. Oh! they be soule-like creatures, and my Neece The soule of twenty rare soules stil'd in one. _Cla_. That, that it is, my Lord, that makes me love. _Mom_. Oh are ye come Sir, welcome to my Neece, As I may say, at midnight; gentle friend, What have you wrot I pray? _Cla_. Strange stuffe my Lord.