COL. Nay, go thy way for a camel or a camelion; thou mayest compare with all Europe, Afric, and Asia; and one that will change tricks, though thou wert worthy to be schoolmaster either to Proteus or Aretine: what an excellent gift did God give unto man when he gave him woman; but how much more when that woman was made fair! But O, the most of all when she had wit to use every member of her creation. Well, I'll stand to't, there's nothing but beauty, use, and old age that puts women of my rank out of request; and yet like old bucklers, though few of your gallant cavaliers will wear us, yet many of your stale ruffians will employ us, and that's our comfort still. MECH. Was ever heard a bawd more damnable! A very mountebank of wench-flesh, an empiric, A dog-leech for the putrified sores Of these lust-canker'd great ones. O, I could Even mad myself with railing at their vices. [_Aside._ PRATE _knocks at the door_. But hark! one knocks: O, for the orator! Heavens, I beseech thee, O, for the orator! COL. How now, who knocks so rudely at the door? PRATE. 'Tis I, I say: open the door: I am in haste. MECH. 'Tis he, just heavens, 'tis he, 'fore God, the orator. [_Aside._ COL. Soul of my bawdy office; how are we betray'd! Anon, anon, sir. What, Mistress Prate, I say; Arise for shame, your husband's at the door, I come, I come; Lord God, how dull you are When danger's at your heels! rise quickly. PRATE. Open the door, or I will break it ope. COL. I come, I come; I think he's mad with haste. What, John; what, Thomas, Robert, where's these knaves? What, Julian, Mary, Cicely, ne'er a maid within? LOL. For God's love, stay; I'll find the key straightway. _Enter_ LOLLIA, _and_ ALPHONSO _in his shirt_. O Mistress Collaquintida, what shall become of us? COL. Nay, I'm at my wit's end, and am made Duller than any spur-gall'd, tired jade. ALPH. 'Sfoot, if he enter, I will break his neck. LOL. Not for a world, dear love, step into my closet. ALPH. Did ever slave come thus unluckily? LOL. Nay, now's no time for passion; good lord, in. [_Exit_ ALPHONSO. _Enter_ PRATE. COL. Fie! I have almost broke my heart with running. LOL. How now, dear husband, what hath mov'd this haste? PRATE. I think I was not bless'd this morning when I rose; for through my forgetfulness I have left behind me in my study the breviates of all my causes, and now the senate is fain to dance attendance on my leisure; fie, fie, fie! [_Exit_ PRATE.