W. RASH. Now God bless the man: he had better choose a wench that has been bred and born in an alley: her tongue is a perpetual motion; thought is not so swift as it is; and, for pride, the woman that had her ruff poked by the devil is but a puritan to her.[158] Thou couldst never have fastened thy affection on a worse subject; she'll flout faster than a court waiting-woman in progress[159]; any man that comes in the way of honesty does she set her mark upon, that is, a villanous jest; for she is a kind of poetess, and will make ballads upon the calves of your legs. I prythee, let her alone, she'll never make a good wife for any man, unless it be a leather-dresser; for perhaps he in time may turn her. GERA. Thou hast a privilege to utter this: But, by my life, my own blood could not 'scape A chastisement for thus profaning her Whose virtues sit above men's calumnies. Had mine own brother spoke thus liberally,[160] My fury should have taught him better manners. LONG. No more words, as you fear a challenge. W. RASH. I may tell thee in thine ear, I am glad to hear what I do; I pray God send her no worse husband, nor he no worse wife. Do you hear, love, will you take your cloak and rapier, And walk abroad into some wholesome air? I do much fear thy infection: good counsel, I see, will do no good on thee; but pursue the end, And to thy thoughts I'll prove a faithful friend. [_Exeunt._ _Enter_ SPENDALL, NAN TICKLEMAN, SWEATMAN, PURSENET, _and a_ DRAWER. SPEND. Here's a spacious room to walk in: sirrah, set down the candle, and fetch us a quart of ipocras[161], and so we'll part. SWEAT. Nay, faith, son, we'll have a pottle; let's ne'er be covetous in our young days. SPEND. A pottle, sirrah; do you hear? DRAWER. Yes, sir, you shall. SPEND. How now, wench! how dost? TICKLE. Faith, I am somewhat sick; yet I should be well enough if I had a new gown. SPEND. Why, here's my hand; within these three days thou shalt have one. SWEAT. And will you, son, remember me for a new forepart? by my troth, my old one is worn so bare, I am ashamed anybody should see't. SPEND. Why, did I ever fail of my promise? SWEAT. No, in sincerity, didst thou not. _Enter_ DRAWER. DRAWER. Here's a cup of rich ipocras. [_Exit._ SPEND. Here, sister, mother, and Master Pursenet: nay, good sir, be not so dejected; for, by this wine, to-morrow I will send you stuff for a new suit, and as much as shall line you a cloak clean through. PURSE. I thank you, and shall study to deserve---- SPEND. Here, boy, fill, and hang that curmudgeon, that's good for nobody but himself. PURSE. Heroicly spoken, by this candle! 'tis pity thou wert not made a lord.