BOUT. Dearest of women! The constant virtue of your nobler mind Speaks in your looks: nor can you entertain Both love and hate at once. TAF. 'Tis all in vain. ADRI. You strive against the stream. CON. Fee the waiting-maid, master! [_Whispers._ BOUT. Stand thou propitious; endear me to my love. [BOUTCHER _gives_ ADRIANA _his purse secretly_. ADRI. Dear mistress, turn to this gentleman; I protest I have some feeling of his constant love. Cast him not away; try his love. TAF. Why, sir, With what audacious front can you entreat To enjoy my love, which yet not two hours since You scornfully refus'd? CON. Well fare the waiting-maid. [_Aside._ BOUT. My fate compell'd me; but now farewell, fond fear: My soul, my life, my lands, and reputation-- I'll hazard all, and prize them all beneath thee. TAF. Which I shall put to trial; lend me thy ear. [_They talk apart._ ADRI. Can you love, boy? CON. Yes. ADRI. What or whom? CON. My victuals. ADRI. A pretty knave, i' faith! come home tonight, Shalt have a posset and candied eringoes. A bed, if need be, too: I love, a' [my] life, To play with such baboons as thou. CON. Indeed! But dost thou think the widow will have my master? ADRI. I'll tell thee then: wo't come? CON. I will. ADRI. Remember! TAF. Will you perform so much? BOUT. Or lose my blood. TAF. Make him subscribe it; and then I vow, By sacred Vesta's ever-hallowed fire, To take thee to my bed. BOUT. Till then, farewell. TAF. He's worthy love, whose virtues most excel. ADRI. Remember! [_to_ CON.] What, is't a match betwixt you, mistress? [_Exit_ BOUTCHER _and_ CONSTANTIA. TAF. I have set the fool in hope: h' has undertook To rid me of that fleshly Captain Face; Which swears in taverns and all ordinaries I am his lawful wife. He shall allay The fury of the captain, and I (secure) Will laugh at the disgrace they both endure. [_Exeunt._ THROAT. Open your case, and I shall soon resolve you. FRAN. But will you do it, truly? THROAT. As I am honest. FRAN. This gentleman, whom I so much affect, I scarce yet do know; so blind is love In things which most concerns it. As y' are honest, Tell me his birth, his state, and farthest hopes. THROAT. He is my friend, and I will speak him truly. He is by birth son to a foolish knight; His present state, I think, will be the prison, And farthest hope, to be bail'd out again By sale of all your land. FRAN. O me accurs'd! Has he no credit, lands, and manors?