SCAR. I construe more divinely of their sex: Being maids, methinks they are angels; and being wives, They are sovereign cordials that preserve our lives,[339] They are like our hands that feed us; this is clear, They renew man, as spring renews the year. ILF. There's ne'er a wanton wench that hears thee, but thinks thee a coxcomb for saying so: marry none of them; if thou wilt have their true characters, I'll give it thee. Women are the purgatory of men's purses, the paradise of their bodies, and the hell of their minds; marry none of them. Women[340] are in churches saints, abroad angels, at home devils. Here are married men enough know this: marry none of them. SCAR. Men that traduce by custom, show sharp wit Only in speaking ill; and practice it Against the best creatures, divine women, Who are God's agents' here, and the heavenly eye, By which this orb hath her maturity: Beauty in women gets the world with child, Without whom she were barren, faint and wild. They are the stems on which do angels grow, From whence virtue is still'd, and arts do flow. _Enter_ SIR JOHN HARCOP _and his daughter_ CLARE. ILF. Let them be what flowers they will; and they were roses, I will pluck none of them for pricking my fingers. But soft, here comes a voider for us: and I see, do what I can, as long as the world lasts, there will be cuckolds in it. Do you hear, child, here's one come to blend you together: he has brought you a kneading-tub, if thou dost take her at his hands. Though thou hadst Argus' eyes, be sure of this, Women have sworn with more than one to kiss. HAR. Nay, no parting, gentlemen. Hem! WEN. 'Sfoot, does he make punks of us, that he hems already? HAR. Gallants, Know old John Harcop keeps a wine-cellar, Has travell'd, been at court, known fashions, And unto all bear habit like yourselves-- The shapes of gentlemen and men of sort, I have a health to give them, ere they part. WEN. Health, knight! not as drunkards give their healths, I hope: to go together by the ears when they have done? HAR. My healths are Welcome: Welcome, gentlemen. ILF. Are we welcome, knight, in faith? HAR. Welcome, in faith, sir. ILF. Prythee, tell me, hast not thou been a whoremaster? HAR. In youth I swill'd my fill at Venus' cup, Instead of full draughts now I am fain to sup. ILF. Why then thou art a man fit for my company: Dost thou hear? (_to_ WEN. _and_ BAR.) he is a good fellow of our stamp. Make much of this[341] father. [_Exeunt_. _Manent_ SCARBOROW _and_ CLARE.